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THE  IMPOSSIBLE  BOY 


1   am   past  pnde." 


THE 
IMPOSSIBLE  BOY 


NINA  WILCOX  PUTNAM 


Aulhtr  •/ 

IN  SEARCH  OF  ARCADY 


Illustrated  by 

ARTHUR  I.  KELLER 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1913 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


PRESS    OF 

BRAUNWORTH   &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS   AND   PRINTSRS 

BROOKLYN,    N.    Y. 


To 

R.  F.  P, 


22290S9 


CONTENTS 

Chapter  Page 

I    OF  INTRODUCTIONS 1 

II  A  BELIEF  IN  SIGNS      .......  18 

III  A  Loss  AND  A  FIND 40 

IV  THAT  WHICH  Is  No  ROBBERY 57 

V    Two  MEETINGS .      ...      :.      .  80 

VI    THE  PEOPLE  DOWN-STAIRS 102 

VII  A  PARTY  IN  THE  ALLEY      .      ..      ...      ...      .       .  112 

VIII  OF  REVOLUTIONARY  SAVOR  .      ,;      .      m      ...      .  136 

IX  THE  LADY  OF  MYSTERY      «      >.;      ;.:      •...      .      .  158 

X  CONCERNING  BOHEMIA        ...      >:      >;     ,«      .       .  185 

XI  SUNDRY  ADVENTURES    .       .      .      -.:      :.:      .      .  213 

XII  A  COMPROMISE                                 >;      >,     >      .  250 

XIII  SOME  ADVENTURES  WITH  VARIATIONS    w     ..,     -.  268 

XIV  To  THE  RESCUE 300 

XV  SNOW  AND  DOGS  AND  THINGS  .....  314 

XVI  A  BYZANTINE  PRINCESS     .       .      >•      .      .      .  326 

XVII  PLOTS        .      .      .      .      .      .      ....  345 

XVIII  AND  COUNTERPLOTS      .......  359 

XIX  A  MOMENTOUS  EVENING     ....;...  373 

XX  THE  BEGINNING  386 


THE  IMPOSSIBLE  BOY 


THE  IMPOSSIBLE  BOY 


CHAPTER  I 

OF   INTRODUCTIONS 

""\7"  OU  see,  Mr.  Jones,  so  many  people  are  in- 
_I_       troduced,    who    never   really    meet,"   said 
Pedro,  "that  it  seems  a  pity  those  who  could  meet 
have  to  wait  for  an  introduction,  eh  ?" 

Mr.  Jones  stopped  licking  his  front  paws,  and 
raised  his  head,  the  tip  of  his  nose  twitching  at- 
tentively. For  several  moments  he  looked  at  Pedro 
with  an  unwavering  stare,  and  then,  as  though  sud- 
denly remembering  what  he  had  been  about,  re- 
sumed the  lavatorial  process.  It  might  be  men- 
tioned in  passing  that  Mr.  Jones  was  a  small  brown 
bear,  fat,  young,  and  intelligent. 

Pedro  rolled  over  in  the  dried  yellow  grass,  lux- 
uriating in  its  warmth,  and  in  the  poignant  odor  of 
autumn  foliage  turned  to  flame  by  long  absorption 
of  the  summer  sun.  On  either  hand  the  meadow 

I 


2  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

rolled  away  in  golden  brown  waves;  here  to  a  sky- 
line topped  by  silhouetted  corn-stacks;  there  to 
where,  distantly,  a  scarlet  trolley-car  was  speeding 
along  the  dusty  highway.  Still  farther  off  lay  Long 
Island  Sound,  seen  dimly  through  the  haze.  The 
day  was  one  of  those,  filled  with  a  spirit  of  yearning, 
which  stirs  the  imagination,  encourages  tender  mel- 
ancholy, and  gives  impetus  to  the  search  after  the 
indefinable — that  search  which  lurks  forever  fugi- 
tive in  the  human  consciousness.  The  pale  blue  sky 
seemed  closer  than  usual,  and  the  soft  cool  air 
stirred  the  very  heart  of  suggestion.  To  the  youth 
lying  in  the  stubby  grass,  life  seemed  just  now  to 
hold  all  too  many  possibilities,  and  he  was  filled 
with  a  sort  of  self-pity,  because  he  could  not  grasp 
them  all. 

Although  it  was  only  mid-afternoon,  he  had  al- 
ready stolen  away  from  Beau- Jean,  Rico,  and  the 
others,  in  order  to  fight  out  the  battle  of  an  im- 
portant decision  in  privacy.  But  now  that  he  was 
alone  with  his  problem  and  his  bear,  he  found  him- 
self afraid  of  the  former,  and  to  put  off  the  evil 
moment  when  he  must  think  in  good  earnest,  he 
talked  to  the  animal.  Mr.  Jones,  having  satisfied 
himself  that  his  paws  were  immaculate  (as  bear- 


OF    INTRODUCTIONS  3 

paws  go),  had  fallen  to  biting  his  chain  in  a  medi- 
tative manner,  which  was  not  indicative  of  resent- 
ment induced  by  the  sign  of  his  captivity,  but  mere- 
ly a  sort  of  ruminative  habit  he  had.  The  lad 
reached  out  a  slim  brown  hand  and  took  up  one  of 
the  newly  laved  paws. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Jones?"  said  he  solemnly. 
"I  am  delighted  to  meet  you! — That's  how  they  do 
it,  eh  ?  Now,  I  call  it  silly  that  some  one  has  to  say 
a  charm  before  two  others  are  permitted  to  make 
an  inquiry  after  the  health!  What  do  you  think, 
Mr.  Jones?" 

The  bear  gave  a  little  grunt  and  thrust  his  nose 
into  the  boy's  palm. 

"Ah!  I  knew  you  would  agree,"  exclaimed 
Pedro.  He  gave  the  creature's  ear  an  affectionate 
tweak  and  then  spread  his  slender  length  upon  the 
ground  again. 

"I  liked  that  girl,"  he  continued  aloud,  "you 
should  have  seen  her,  Mr.  Jones;  she  had  red  hair. 
Not  horrid  red,  but  red-gold  like, — like  joy!  All 
crisp  and  curling  it  was.  And  such  a  beautiful  pale 
face.  She  looked  at  me,  you  must  know,  but  I  did 
not  dare  to  speak,  because  she  would  not  have  an- 
swered, and  that  would  have  been  a  tragedy.  Why 


4  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

should  she  speak  to  a  ragged  young  man  to  whom 
she  had  never  been  introduced?  Of  course,  she 
would  not!  I  wish  she  had,  though,  because  I 
liked  her  .  .  .  But  I  could  look  at  her.  That 
was  something!" 

The  bear  cocked  its  head  to  one  side  and  smiled 
moistly. 

"It  was  this  morning,  while  I  was  persuading 
that  shoemaker  beyond  to  exchange  good  leather 
for  an  indifferent  song,"  continued  Pedro,  "she 
walked  past  the  shop  with  her  head  in  the  air,  step- 
ping daintily  across  the  dust  to  a  great  automobile 
of  exceeding  redness.  There  was  a  line,  amigo  mio, 
from  her  chin  to  the  base  of  her  throat — ah !" 

He  rolled  over  again,  burying  his  face  in  his 
folded  arms.  One  long  sigh  escaped  him,  and  then 
a  second,  for  the  mention  of  that  beautiful  line  from 
breast  to  chin  had  reawakened  his  subdominant 
problem — the  problem  of  his  future,  and  of  his  life- 
work.  Happy  as  he  was,  he  could  no  longer  put  off 
a  decision  regarding  it.  The  craving  to  get  at  the 
occupation  nearest  his  heart  had  been  gathering 
strength  these  many  months  past  and  was  now 
straining  at  the  leashes  of  his  will,  tearing  him  from 
one  dearly  loved  way  of  life  to  another,  scarcely 


OF    INTRODUCTIONS  5 

tried,  yet  which  called  him  ceaselessly.  Was  he  to 
continue  free — (a  mere  dancer  of  bears)  but  free? 
Or  should  he  at  last  become  a  painter,  chained  to  his 
work  by  ties  as  strong  as  those  which  held  his  bear, 
for  all  they  would  be  invisible? 

Before  his  mental  vision  arose  the  phantom  of 
what  he  would  fain  interpret  and  depict  .  .  . 
The  spires  of  cities,  smoke  from  the  altars  of  com- 
merce, teeming  multitudes  of  men  and  women. 
Shops'  lights,  color,  movement,  broad  boulevards 
adorned  by  the  equipages  of  the  rich ;  narrow  alleys 
where  the  poor  jostled  and  bartered  at  push-carts  in 
the  murky  flare  of  lamps ;  visions  of  broad  roof-tops, 
spreading  acre  on  acre,  mile  on  mile — a  veritable 
ocean  of  roofs  stretching  far  as  eye  could  see,  cov- 
ering more  pain  and  passion  than  the  heart  could 
know,  more  colored  with  joy  than  the  hand  could 
depict.  And  the  boats  of  travel,  of  trade,  on  errands 
of  pleasure  or  of  war.  Gleaming,  they  slipped 
through  the  night  with  music;  portentous,  they 
loomed  through  the  fog,  speaking  hoarsely  their 
warning  to  each  other.  Again  a  stretch  of  roof-tops 
— giants,  on  whose  heads  the  sky  seemed  to  rest: 
pinnacles  of  faith,  diversified  and  of  many  creeds; 
and  still  taller  pinnacles,  reared  to  Mammon.  Wet 


6  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

streets  gleaming  beneath  a  million  lamps.  Like  the 
black  shadows  cast  of  clouds,  the  people,  massing, 
separating,  remassing  upon  the  pavements.  For  an 
instant  he  seemed  to  hold  the  Empire  City,  its  life, 
its  very  soul,  in  his  two  hands,  and  of  it  molded  a 
presentation  of  Truth.  With  a  start  he  knelt  upright, 
stretching  his  arms  wide  in  ecstasy. 

The  bear,  who  had  fallen  asleep,  was  disturbed 
by  the  sudden  movement  of  his  master,  and  when 
no  apology  was  forthcoming,  and  no  attention  paid 
him,  thrust  an  affectionate  inquiring  snout  into  the 
youth's  side.  With  an  incoherent  exclamation,  Pedro 
dropped  his  visioning,  and  looking  upon  the  bear, 
the  dear  familiarity  of  every-day  things  swept  over 
him  with  an  emotion  that  was  no  less  poignant  for 
being  narrower  than  the  one  that  had  preceded  it. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Jones!"  he  cried,  throwing  his  arms 
about  the  animal  and  hugging  it  to  him. 

How  could  he  let  go  the  infinite  variety  of  every 
day?  Ah!  he  could  not]  it  was  impossible!  Re- 
nounce the  long  white  road  that  led  to  nowhere, 
yet  which  brought  one  to  a  new  place  each  hour? 
Renounce  the  nights  spent  beneath  the  open  heavens : 
the  sweet  summer  nights  among  the  meadow  flow- 
ers; the  winter  twilights,  when  he  and  the  bear 


OF    INTRODUCTIONS  7 

cowered  down  together  in  the  hay  of  a  lonely  barn, 
or  if  they  were  rich,  procured  the  privilege  of  a 
tavern  kitchen  with  the  spoils  of  the  evening's  per- 
formance! Oh,  blessed  days  of  journeying  among 
simple  adventures,  tramping  all  through  the  noon, 
or  loafing  long  hours  and  dreaming!  Now,  it  was 
a  group  of  children,  laughing  for  glee  at  Mr. 
Jones'  dancing,  then  a  curious  crowd  in  a  sordid 
village  street,  enticed  into  merriment  and  self- 
forgetfulness  by  his  antics.  At  another  time,  Mr. 
Jones,  sedate  and  full  of  decorous  tricks,  was 
solemnly  exhibited  to  the  inhabitants  of  a  great 
country  house,  where  the  governess  gave  him 
money  gingerly  and  kept  her  charges  at  a  safe  dis- 
tance, while  in  the  background  giggling  maids, 
white  aprons  fluttering  in  the  breeze,  watched  half- 
afraid.  And  there  were  the  road  houses  at  night, 
where  laborers  of  the  district  came,  and  others,  too 
— coachmen,  and  men  servants  and  delinquent  hus- 
bands of  the  townswomen.  Here  he  and  the  bear 
would  dance  the  "coquette"  (learned  in  Paris),  to 
the  accompaniment  of  uproarious  applause;  and  the 
harvest  was  rich,  thrown  clinking  into  the  apron  of 
Old  Nita,  one  of  the  little  troupe  to  which  he  be- 
longed. Ah !  those  were  the  gay  nights ! 


8  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

Past  the  last  few  months  his  thoughts  flew  back 
to  journeyings  far  and  wide:  white  roads  of  Lor- 
raine, a  theatrical  little  village  near  Naples,  where 
Mr.  Jones  had  worsted  a  rival  in  combat  for  honors 
on  a  market  day;  Holland,  where  the  bear  had 
stolen  the  little  wooden  shoe  from  the  tulip-selling 
girl,  and  where  they  met  the  gigantic  Beau-Jean, 
and  he,  with  his  wife,  Guneviere,  and  the  great 
grizzly  Koko,  had  joined  them.  That  made  a  com- 
pany of  six,  for  already  there  was  Rico,  his  bear 
and  his  Anna,  and  Nita — that  wicked  Old  Nita, 
who  danced  the  "coquette"  herself  when  they,  bears 
and  all,  went  late  one  night  to  the  Bal  Bodin  in 
Montmartre.  How  funny  she  had  looked,  dancing, 
with  her  shapeless  old  mouth  a-smiling! 

Tramp  steamers !  The  smell  of  them  came  sharp- 
ly across  the  autumn  wind.  How  horrible  they 
were,  yet  how  delightful,  for  they  meant  getting 
to  new  places!  Weeks  of  motion,  stowed  in  a 
little  space  with  your  fellow-creatures  and  with 
the  bears,  till  you  yourself  became  like  an  animal. 
Weeks  of  motion  and  of  stench,  and  then  at  last  the 
dying  of  the  engine-throb,  the  crowding  and  the 
jostling,  and  the  great  rush  out  upon  the  shore  of 
some  new  land.  On  such  a  voyage  it  was  that 


OF    INTRODUCTIONS  9 

Carlos  and  Hermania  had  joined  them,  bringing  a 
cinnamon  bear,  who  they  said  could  "sing,"  though 
from  that  day  to  this  no  one  had  heard  him  do  it. 

Where  had  not  these  eight  been — what  roads 
they  had  traveled  together  under  sun  or  moon ! 
Down  among  the  palms  of  Florida,  tramping  the 
long  beaches,  dancing  for  human  puppets,  trim  as 
dolls,  unreal,  exquisite,  who  had  thrown  gold  to 
them  in  the  sand.  Or  up  in  Maine,  in  the  hard  bleak 
country,  where  the  farmers,  looking  at  them  askance, 
would  scarcely  render  a  night's  lodging.  It  had 
proved  a  barren  land,  devoid  of  all  that  nourishes 
performing  bears,  and  a  lean  party  had  turned 
southward  at  close  of  summer. 

How  they  had  tramped  along  the  Road  to  No- 
where, the  Road  to  Maybe!  First,  Beau-Jean, 
chained  to  Koko,  the  great  grizzly ;  Beau-Jean  with 
his  great  head  bent  beneath  the  pack  upon  his  back, 
and  beside  him  his  wife  Guneviere,  a  Roumanian 
woman,  squat  and  of  sturdy  build.  Then  Anna, 
hastening  southward  two  steps  ahead  of  her  mate, 
in  eager  discontent  Next  Rico,  chained  to  their 
bear,  both  of  them  sullen,  and  at  times  dangerous. 
After  them  came  Carlos  and  Hermania,  solicitous 
of  their  animal,  which  they  fed  before  they  them- 


io  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

selves  ate.  And  Nita  then,  who  went  along  mum- 
bling, usually  with  a  rosary  in  her  hand,  a  constant 
saying  of  which  she  hoped  would  save  her  from 
the  devil,  which  her  old  eyes  betrayed.  Lastly,  him- 
self, Pedro,  who  often  lagged  behind  to  examine 
some  wonder  of  the  roadway,  or  to  gaze  down  a 
vista,  opened  suddenly  by  a  turn  of  the  path.  Some- 
times he  ran  ahead,  sometimes  trod  slowly  beside 
Old  Nita,  listening  to  her  murmured  tales  of  a  wild 
youth,  her  fear  of  hell,  and  her  fierce  pride  in  her 
evil  achievements.  And  always  there  was  Mr. 
Jones,  the  well-beloved,  shambling  at  his  heels. 

This  host  of  memories  Pedro  felt  in  their  essence, 
in  a  single  breath,  as  it  were,  bereft  of  detail  save 
for  some  picture — of  a  small  incident  or  two,  trivial, 
but  never  to  be  forgot.  The  heart  of  that  past 
life  he  held  for  a  moment  in  his  own.  No!  no!  he 
could  not  give  it  up.  And  yet,  this  other  call,  which 
had  been  with  him,  it  would  seem,  since  birth,  was 
now  grown  too  strong  for  resistance.  Before  his 
eyes  he  must  see  the  thought  of  his  heart  depicted 
by  the  labor  of  his  brain  and  hand.  He  must  paint ! 
He  was  an  artist,  an  artist! 

With  a  gesture  he  released  the  patient  bear  and 
looked  wildly  about  him  as  though  looking  his  last 


OF    INTRODUCTIONS  u 

upon  liberty.  The  thought  was  appalling,  but  to 
buy  his  soul  he  must  sell  his  body  into  the  bondage 
of  routine. 

Dusk  was  falling  and  the  haze  had  quite  ob- 
scured the  distant  water.  The  evening  was  very 
still. 

"I  will  go!"  said  Pedro  shudderingly.  Then,  as 
if  shedding  the  past,  he  squared  his  shoulders. 

"Come!"  said  he  to  the  animal.  "We  shall  return 
to  camp  and  tell  them  what  we  are  going  to  do." 

Slowly  he  picked  up  the  tall  staff  to  which,  as  a 
rule,  the  bear's  collar  was  fastened  by  a  long  iron 
chain,  but  which  was  now  detached,  and,  hat  in 
hand,  climbed  the  hill  to  the  yellow  corn-stacks. 
There  he  paused  on  the  windy  summit,  the  staff  like 
an  alpenstock,  held  at  arm's  length,  his  well-worn 
coat  of  green  blowing  about  him, — a  slim  young 
figure,  quick  with  energy,  his  small  head  thrown 
back  courageously. 

"Adios!"  said  Pedro,  as  though  to  something  in- 
carnate, making  a  sweeping  bow  as  he  spoke.  Then 
he  covered  his  crisp  brown  hair  with  his  wide- 
brimmed,  weather-stained  hat  of  felt  and  marched 
into  the  valley,  the  bear  bounding  along  before  him. 

Not  until  he  was  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the 


12  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

road  did  Pedro  realize  that  he  had  been  trespassing 
on  what  now  evinced  itself  to  be  a  country  estate 
of  some  pretensions :  and  at  this  point  the  fact  was 
made  manifest  by  the  sight  of  a  cedar  and  fir  hedge, 
well  planted  and  cared  for,  that,  growing  to  some 
twenty  feet  in  height,  marked  the  frontage  of  the 
property.  Near  by  was  a  closed  gate,  flanked  by 
pillars  of  old  brick  and  soapstone,  giving  access  to 
a  narrow  foot-path  which  wound  along  at  the  base 
of  the  hill  he  had  just  crossed. 

Apparently  he  had  been  dreaming  away  the  aft- 
ernoon upon  the  farming  section  of  the  place.  The 
sloping  ground  which  lay  between  him  and  the 
hedge  was  smooth  and  soft,  and  tempted  by  it,  Mr. 
Jones  lay  down  and  rolled  a  little  way.  Then  he  got 
up  and  trotted  on  some  distance  in  advance  of  his 
master.  The  road  was  very  near  now,  and  there 
came  a  sound  of  pattering  footsteps  from  it  and  the 
swish  of  light  garments.  Through  the  somber  ever- 
greens Pedro  could  see  a  gleam  of  white,  moving 
swiftly.  Then  came  the  noise  of  heavier  tramping 
— a  man's  step  this  time — a  man  in  haste  at  that. 
Then  a  woman  screamed,  her  frightened  cry  ring- 
ing out  sharply. 

The  bear,  moved    to    curiosity    by    the    sound, 


OF    INTRODUCTIONS  13 

plunged  through  the  hedge  and  disappeared,  and 
Pedro,  grasping  his  staff  like  a  cudgel,  set  off  down 
the  slope  at  a  run,  reaching  the  hedge  only  a 
moment  later  than  the  bear.  The  fragrant  branches 
whipped  across  the  boy's  face  as  he  rushed  past, 
emerging  breathless  upon  the  highway.  A  dramatic 
scene  awaited  him. 

Down  the  road  a  thoroughly  frightened  tramp 
was  speeding  from  the  terrifying  and  wholly  un- 
expected apparition  of  the  bear,  a  cloud  of  dust  en- 
veloping his  horrified  retreat.  Close  to  the  gate- 
way, her  purse  clasped  frantically  to  her  bosom, 
stood  a  girl,  bewildered  and  alarmed — a  girl  whom 
the  last  sunbeams  bathed  in  glory,  gleaming  on  her 
hair  that  was  "red-gold,  like  joy."  And  to  com- 
plete the  picture,  there  stood  Mr.  Jones,  erect  upon 
his  hind  legs,  his  tongue  lolling  out  and  his  clumsy 
paws  waving  from  her  to  Pedro. 

It  was  an  introduction. 

That  she  was  the  lady  of  the  morning  there  was 
not  a  doubt.  That  she  was  almost  as  much  fright- 
ened by  the  bear  as  by  the  tramp,  whose  attempted 
robbery  the  animal's  sudden  appearance  had  frus- 
trated, was  equally  clear.  At  sight  of  Pedro  she 
screamed  again. 


14  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Oh !  the  bear !  Help,  help !  Oh,  take  him  away !" 
she  cried. 

"Abas!"  said  Pedro  sharply,  addressing  his  pet. 
But  Mr.  Jones  did  not  obey  immediately,  and  for 
a  moment  the  three  stood  as  if  transfixed.  Then  the 
bear  dropped  to  all  fours,  and  the  spell  of  the  tab- 
leau was  broken.  Still  they  did  not  speak,  how- 
ever, each  waiting  for  the  other  to  begin;  the  girl's 
breath  still  coming  short  from  her  recent  fright; 
the  youth  fairly  paralyzed  by  her  beauty.  She  was 
very  young — not  more  than  nineteen  or  twenty,  and 
the  ivory  of  her  skin  was  flushed  now,  and  her  eyes 
were  like  stars.  Her  head  was  held  aloft  in  a  way 
she  had  that  was  all  her  own;  a  delicate  posfe,  and 
quite  unconscious.  Pedro's  eyes  were  upon  that  beau- 
tiful line  from  chin  to  breast  as  she  spoke,  timidly 
breaking  the  silence. 

"Oh,  how  fortunate  that  you  were  near!"  she  be- 
gan breathlessly.  "It  was  a  tramp.  He  wanted 
my  little  silk  purse  .  .  .  but  the  bear  fright- 
ened him  away ;  he  came  so  suddenly — the  bear  did, 
that  is.  In  another  instant  that  dreadful  man  would 
have  had  my  bag.  Not  that  I  would  have  cared  so 
much  about  the  money,  you  know,"  she  added  a 
trifle  apologetically,  "but  I  have  registered  letters 


It  was  an  introduction. 


OF    INTRODUCTIONS  15 

in  it  for  my  father.  I  have  just  come  from  the  post- 
office,  and  if  they  had  been  lost  .  .  .  but,  per- 
haps, you  do  not  understand  English?" 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  Pedro,  taking  his  eyes  from  her 
slender  throat  and  flashing  a  brilliant  smile  at  her. 
"Oh,  yes,  indeed,  I  understand  you  !" 

"Then  please  let  me  thank  you,"  said  she,  her  in- 
terest in  him  growing  every  moment. 

"But  there  is  nothing  for  which  I  may  receive 
thanks !"  he  protested. 

Her  fingers,  which,  in  the  recess  of  her  rescued 
purse,  were  fumbling  some  coins,  relaxed,  and  she 
closed  the  receptacle  with  a  snap.  His  words  and 
tone  were  unusual,  and  he  was  looking  at  her 
strangely.  Perhaps  it  was  better  not  to  offer 
money. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  not  noticed  her  ges- 
ture, being  obsessed  by  the  wonderful  fact  that  she 
was  speaking.  Actually,  she  seemed  to  consider 
the  bear's  introduction  sufficient.  Delighted,  he 
moved  his  lips  to  reply,  but  even  as  he  did  so  he 
became  aware  of  the  growing  intensity  of  her  gaze, 
and  an  overwhelming  nervousness  came  upon  him. 
Fumblingly  he  removed  his  wide  soft  hat  and 
clasped  it  upon  his  heart  with  both  hands.  How 


16  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

she  stared!  Waiting  for  him  to  speak  again,  she 
gave  her  chin  a  tilt  which  accentuated  that  heavenly 
line.  Involuntarily  he  pictured  drapery  behind  it, 
his  artist's  soul  longing  to  depict  it.  Like  a  Ma- 
donna. 

"It  should  be  blue!"  he  said  aloud  in  a  queer 
choked  voice. 

"What  did  you  say?"  asked  the  girl  with  a  puz- 
zled expression. 

At  realization  of  his  speech  his  confusion  became 
complete,  and  suddenly  his  one  idea  was  to  escape 
her  watchful  eyes. 

"I — that  is  to  say,  er — it  was  Mr.  Jones  entirely," 
he  stammered,  "I — I  did  nothing,  nada!  It  was 
all  the  bear." 

"But  he  is  your  bear,  evidently,"  she  replied, 
"and  I  insist  that  he  share  the  thanks  with  you." 

"Thank  you!"  said  Pedro  eagerly.  "You  do  not 
know  the  exquisite  delight — er — ah — oh !"  Gasping, 
he  sought  to  extricate  himself  from  the  awkward- 
ness of  the  impulsive  compliment  he  had  half- 
blurted  out 

"Forgive  me,  gracious  lady,  er — er — I  must  go 
now !"  he  finished  lamely. 

"Well,    I    give   you    my    most    grateful    thanks, 


OF    INTRODUCTIONS  17 

whether  you  take  them  or  not,"  said  she  with  a 
smile. 

But  he  was  now  too  embarrassed  to  rally  and  did 
what  one  often  does  upon  attaining  a  desired  situa- 
tion :  became  suddenly  panicky  and  ran  away 
from  it. 

"I  shall  hold  your  words  in  my  heart,"  said  he, 
and  then,  with  a  gesture  half  beseeching,  half 
apologetic,  and  wholly  graceful,  he  swept  his  hat 
upon  his  head,  and  calling  the  bear,  set  off  down 
the  road. 

The  wording  of  his  speech  was  odd  and  unex- 
pected, and  the  manner  of  his  departure  so  pre- 
cipitant that  it  looked  like  a  retreat.  For  as  long 
as  he  remained  in  sight  she  stood  gazing  after  him, 
her  interest  in  him  cemented  by  his  flight.  Through 
the  dappling  shadows  he  passed,  over  the  fallen 
leaves.  Then  a  crimson  maple  hid  him,  and  the 
sound  of  his  footsteps  died  away.  With  a  sigh  she 
was  scarcely  conscious  of  uttering,  so  faint  it  was, 
she  reluctantly  turned  in  at  the  gate  in  the  hedge 
and  went  slowly  along  the  little  winding  path. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  BELIEF  IN   SIGNS 

BUT  Pedro  walked  rapidly,  so  that  the  bear 
had  difficulty  in  imitating  the  pace.  The 
youth  had  now  definitely  made  up  his  mind  to  take 
the  new  course  of  action,  for  this  second  vision  of 
the  beautiful  lady  had  confirmed  his  resolution,  and 
he  felt  he  must  get  back  to  the  others  quickly,  in 
order  to  tell  them  before  he  had  time  to  change 
his  mind.  As  he  walked  he  kept  muttering  "blue, 
blue!"  and  his  brows  were  knit  furiously. 

He  had  to  pass  some  villas  with  a  semi-suburban 
look  about  them,  and  then  an  elm-shaded  street, 
where  commerce  and  conservatism  rubbed  shoul- 
ders. Next,  by  switching  off  from  this  thorough- 
fare, he  passed  between  rows  of  frame  houses,  which 
diminished  in  their  appearance  of  importance  and 
prosperity  the  farther  he  went,  until  finally  the 
street,  if  such  it  could  properly  be  called  at  this 
point,  was  fringed  only  by  shacks  that  leaned  in- 
quisitively over  the  gutters,  or  braced  themselves 

18 


A    BELIEF    IN    SIGNS  19 

at  a  fearsome  angle  against  the  slanting  little  gar- 
dens at  their  backs. 

Where  these  humble  habitations  came  to  an  end 
there  stood  an  old  barn  amid  a  stony  field,  scattered 
over  with  paper,  rubbish  and  discarded  cans.  In 
the  lee  of  the  dilapidated  building  a  fire  was  burn- 
ing upon  the  ground,  and  about  it  a  group  of  people 
had  gathered.  Over  the  blaze  a  kettle  had  been 
hung,  into  which  an  old  woman  was  throwing  greens 
from  her  apron.  Near  her,  his  back  against  the 
barn,  lay  a  giant  of  a  man,  with  a  patch  over  one 
eye.  This  was  Beau-Jean,  the  mighty  Provengal, 
who  at  this  moment  was  engaged  in  carving  an  elab- 
orate design  upon  the  base  of  a  bear-stave;  while 
beside  him  lay  the  great  animal  whom  he  ruled, 
asleep  with  its  nose  tucked  under  its  paws.  Two 
younger  women — Gunny,  Beau-Jean's  wife,  and 
sturdy  Hermania,  wife  of  Carlos  (who  lay  asleep 
near  by) — were  mending  their  shoes.  They  per- 
formed this  task  in  company,  one  holding  a  flap  of 
leather  against  the  sole  while  the  other  pulled  a 
cord  through  the  holes  and  knotted  it.  At  a  little 
distance,  Anna,  the  pretty  and  irresponsible,  was 
weaving  a  garland  of  bright  golden  maple  leaves, 
Rico  watching  adoringly,  the  while  he  pretended 


20  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

to  be  busy  nursing  the  wounded  paw  of  their  animal. 
The  thickening  mist  from  an  alder  swamp  beyond 
enclosed  the  picture  like  a  screen,  and  the  dancing 
firelight  threw  weird  silhouettes  against  the  tall 
black  wall  of  the  barn.  An  odor,  bitter  yet  appe- 
tizing, came  from  the  steaming  kettle,  and  Old 
Nita  muttered  while  she  stirred  its  contents,  as 
though  some  witch-broth  were  bubbling  there.  At 
sight  and  smell  of  his  familiars,  Mr.  Jones  trotted 
up,  eagerly  sniffing  as  he  came.  Old  Nita  aroused 
herself  at  his  approach. 

"Pedro,  you  have  let  him  loose  again,  oh,  care- 
less one!"  she  cried;  "some  day  he  will  betray  you 
and  be  off!  or  worse  yet,  stolen." 

"Cross  Old  Nita!"  replied  Pedro,  stepping  into 
the  lighted  circle  and  smiling  at  her.  "He  is  too 
fond  of  me  to  run  away — aren't  you,  old  fellow, 
eh?" 

"Chain  him!  Chain  him!"  shrieked  Hermania. 
"He  is  eating  my  shoe." 

Pedro  ran  to  the  rescue,  and  snapping  the  chain 
to  Mr.  Jones'  collar,  thrust  the  pointed  end  of  the 
heavy  staff,  to  which  it  was  attached,  into  the 
ground,  and  the  animal  considered  himself  secured. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  he  could  have  uprooted  the 


A    BELIEF    IN    SIGNS  21 

stake  with  very  little  effort;  but  such  is  a  habit  of 
mind. 

"What's  to  eat?"  inquired  Pedro,  stooping  over 
the  kettle.  "Greens!  Is  that  all?" 

"There  is  rye  bread — a  single  loaf,"  responded 
Nita.  "Thanks  to  your  going  off  by  yourself,  we 
have  only  taken  in  a  few  pesetas  all  day !" 

"You  know  very  well,  Aged  One,"  responded 
Pedro,  "that  you  take  in  as  much  alone  as  with  me, 
or  very  nearly.  And  as  for  going  off!  .  .  . 
Well,  I  have  something  to  tell  you,  but  all  must 
hear.  Let  us  gather  together  first,  and  eat" 

So  far  the  conversation  had  been  in  Spanish,  the 
native  tongue  of  these  two.  Now,  as  the  conversa- 
tion became  general,  they  fell  into  a  patois  English, 
the  language  of  the  road,  sometimes  slipping  into 
French,  sometimes  back  into  Spanish,  their  talk  be- 
ing as  polyglot  as  their  origin. 

Beau- Jean  closed  his  great  knife  with  a  snap, 
and  without  arising  hitched  himself  lazily  a  little 
nearer  to  the  fire.  The  women  opposite  had  fin- 
ished their  task  and  now  brought  out  tin  plates  and 
a  bouquet  of  dried  garlic.  The  drowsy  Carlos  was 
aroused  and  sent  to  the  nearest  house  for  water, 
which  he  brought  in  a  clean  new  pail,  dripping 


22  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

diamonds  from  its  brimming  edge.  Anna  flung  her 
garland  about  her  Rico's  head,  and  as  ever,  hand 
in  hand,  they  came  to  eat  when  all  the  work  was 
done.  Then,  crowding  close  to  the  glowing  embers 
(for  the  night  was  chill),  they  sat  and  ate  until  the 
greens  had  vanished  and  the  bread  and  garlic  were 
consumed  to  the  last  morsel. 

From  the  town,  at  first,  came  muffled  sounds, 
made  melodious  by  distance;  but  gradually  these 
died  away,  while  nearer  at  hand  came  echoes  of 
evening  life  from  the  huts.  Somewhere  a  woman 
was  singing  a  nasal  plaintive  refrain,  which  broke 
off  abruptly  when  the  protesting  wail  of  a  child, 
dragged  reluctantly  from  his  play,  arose  shrilly, 
The  late  autumn  night  fell  swift  and  black.  Over- 
head a  few  frosty  stars  began  to  gleam.  Gradually 
quiet  came  upon  the  neighboring  hovels,  and  one 
by  one  their  feeble  lights  were  being  extinguished. 
Around  the  first  bend  of  that  shabby  street  the  open 
door  of  a  low  saloon  shed  a  flare  of  light  across  the 
dusty  road,  and  from  its  dubious  back  room  came 
the  tortured  strains  of  a  concertina.  But  all  this 
seemed  afar,  unreal,  like  a  setting  for  a  play.  Pedro 
drew  the  thin  blanket  from  his  knapsack,  flung  it 


A    BELIEF    IN    SIGNS  23 

about  him  and,  underneath  it,  fastened  his  old  coat 
of  green  up  closer. 

"Now,  do  you  want  to  hear,  eh?"  he  asked,  ad- 
dressing the  company.  "If  so,  I  shall  tell  my  plan." 

Beau-Jean  replied  first,  in  his  deep  husky  voice. 

"Let  the  little  one  tell  his  notion.  The  plans  of 
Pedro  have  brought  many  a  laugh,  and  so,  many  a 
coin  from  the  crowd  on  the  market  street" 

"My  shoes  will  not  stand  another  mending,"  said 
Hermania.  "If  Pedro  can  tell  a  plan  to  get  others, 
I  will  heed." 

"The  lad  has  wit;  did  he  not  conceive  the  praying 
trick  for  Koko?"  mumbled  Old  Nita.  "Come,  child, 
what  has  thy  brain  devised  now  to  help  us?" 

"Pedro  is  beautiful;  that  is  reason  enough  for  my 
listening!"  cried  Anna,  laughing.  Whereat  Rico 
said  nothing,  but  looked  sullenly  into  the  fire  until 
she  slipped  her  hand  back  into  his.  Then  he  smiled. 

"Pedro  is  a  good  fellow,"  he  said  slowly.  "What 
should  we  do  without  him?" 

"Oh,  don't,  don't!"  cried  Pedro.  "Why  do  you 
say  these  things  on  this  night  of  all  nights?  I  can 
not  endure  it!  Call  me  evil  names,  and  abuse  me, 
rather!  Please!  It  is  almost  too  hard  for  me  to 


24  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

do,  and  yet  I  must!  Amigos!  It  is  for  myself  only 
that  I  am  planning — my  notion  will  not  help  you, 
alas!" 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  for  a  moment 
there  was  an  astonished  silence.  Such  an  outburst 
of  emotion  on  the  part  of  their  joyous  Pedro  was 
a  thing  undreamed  of  by  any  of  them. 

Into  the  silence  the  voice  of  Old  Nita  broke 
tremblingly. 

"Hast  thou  sinned,  even  as  I,  that  thou  weepest 
so?  What  is  it,  Pedro  of  my  heart?" 

"No,  no!"  he  cried,  raising  his  head.  "I  have  not 
sinned,  but  I  have  seen  a  line — an  exquisite  curve 
from  an  oval  chin  to  the  base  of  a  white  throat." 

"Ah !  In  love !"  exclaimed  Rico  and  Anna  simul- 
taneously. 

"No;  again  no!"  cried  Pedro.  "I  do  not  love  it, 
but  I've  got  to  paint  it!" 

There  was  another  interval  of  puzzled  silence, 
broken  this  time  by  Beau-Jean. 

"Oh,  little  Pedro,"  said  he,  "what  do  you  mean  by 
'paint  it?  " 

"Just  that,"  said  Pedro,  striving  to  conquer  his 
emotion.  "I  am  going  to  be  an  artist,  a  painter. 
Don't  you  understand?" 


A    BELIEF    IN    SIGNS  25 

The  little  group  stirred  relievedly.  This  was 
nothing  so  terrible,  after  all.  Then  for  a  few 
moments  all  spoke  at  once,  voicing  their  relief. 
Hermania's  query  made  itself  evident  above  the 
clamor  of  the  rest. 

"But  why  does  this  distress  you  so?  Always,  al- 
ways you  have  made  pictures.  Pictures  of  us  all, 
of  everywhere,  of  everybody ;  always,  always  scrib- 
bling little  pictures  upon  bits  of  paper!  Where  is 
the  trouble?" 

"The  trouble  comes  because  I  shall  have  to  leave 
you  all,"  said  Pedro  sadly.  "I  must  go  to  the  city, 
where  I  can  have  the  right  things  to  work  with,  and 
colors — colors — colors!  I  must  learn  about  them. 
It  will  be  hard,  but  I  can  do  it." 

"Go  away!  Leave  them!"  Such  a  clangor  as 
they  raised!  It  was  beyond  human  power  to  quiet 
them,  and  he  was  obliged  to  wait  in  silence  until  the 
first  violence  of  their  emotion  had  subsided  before 
he  could  make  himself  heard. 

"I  have  tried  not  to  do  this,"  he  said  as  soon  as 
they  let  him  speak,  "but  I  can't  help  it  The  art — 
it  bosses  me  now !" 

"But  where  shall  you  go?"  asked  Nita. 

"To  New  York;  it  is  nearest,"  replied  Pedro. 


26  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY, 

"And  how  will  you  live?"  from  Carlos. 

"I  do  not  know." 

"Who  will  teach  you?"  queried  Hermania. 

"I  do  not  know." 

"And  those  colors,  where  will  you  get  them?" 
asked  Anna. 

"I  do  not  know." 

"And  knowing  nothing,  you  are  yet  determined 
to  go?"  Beau-Jean  demanded. 

"Yes,"  answered  Pedro  stubbornly. 

"Then,"  said  Beau-Jean  with  a  sigh,  "it  is  our 
plain  duty  to  help  you." 

"How  will  you  do  so?"  asked  Pedro  eagerly. 

"I  do  not  know  that,  either,"  responded  Beau- 
Jean. 

Next  morning  the  eight  set  out  together  for  the 
city.  Whatever  strange  undertaking  Pedro  was 
considering,  they  would  all  go  along  and  assist  if 
possible.  And  so,  without  any  idea  save  that  of 
action,  they  set  forth,  determined  though  indefinite. 

The  coppers  of  yesterday  were  all  expended  for 
breakfast,  and  the  first  step  toward  the  beginning 
of  a  day  being  accomplished,  they  betook  themselves 
to  the  railroad  track,  and  walked  beside  it  But 


A    BELIEF    IN    SIGNS  27 

noon  came  and  passed,  and  still  no  granite  towers 
loomed  before  their  expectant  eyes.  Finally,  to 
rest  themselves,  they  turned  from  the  wearying 
shining  vista  of  rails,  and  seated  themselves  upon 
the  dead  grass  beside  the  mile-post  that  bore  the 
discouraging  legend : 

N.  Y.  25  M. — Harrison  I  M. 

By  this  time  all  were  tired  and  hungry.  Worse  yet, 
the  bears  were  hungry — a  condition  to  be  reckoned 
with  before  the  need  of  the  masters. 

"Let  us  go,"  suggested  Pedro,  "into  the  town 
which  this  dusty  road  leads  to,  and  dance  the  bears, 
pass  the  hat,  and  eat,  eh  ?" 

The  suggestion  needed  no  seconding.  With 
groans  and  complaints  they  got  to  their  feet  again, 
and  set  off  for  the  village. 

But  fate  was  not  smiling  upon  them  just  then. 
The  town  was  almost  deserted  at  this  hour.  Besides 
which,  near  the  end  of  the  performance,  Toto,  who 
was  supposed  to  "sing,"  raised  his  voice  from  his 
usual  growling  monotone  to  a  hungry  howl.  That 
sent  the  watchers  running  off  in  all  directions.  Rue- 
fully Old  Nita  counted  the  earnings. 

"Only   seven   pennies    in   all,"    she   complained. 


28  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Better  to  have  rested  beside  the  railroad." 
.  "It  is  not  enough  to  feed  one  bear  even,"  re- 
marked Beau-Jean,  "and  I  am  as  hungry  as  two." 

Meanwhile,  Pedro  was  talking  to  himself.  "You 
got  them  into  this ;  otherwise  they  would  have  trav- 
eled the  regular  way.  Now  you  get  them  out." 
And  his  eyes  swept  the  grimy  little  square  in 
search  of  a  solution  for  the  immediate  difficulty. 
The  place  was  sufficiently  down-at-heel  to  discour- 
age anybody.  On  one  side  was  the  low-roofed 
station  building  of  dirty  bricks,  a  row  of  bill- 
boards filled  the  space  to  the  right,  and  to  the  left 
a  bridge  crossed  the  railroad.  Then  Pedro  noticed 
a  dingy  lunch-wagon  by  the  broken  curb,  some 
fifty  feet  away.  At  the  entrance  to  it  stood  a  fat 
man  with  a  dismal  flabby  face.  His  hands  were 
tucked  beneath  an  apron  whose  immaculate  white- 
ness shone  out  conspicuously  among  the  gray  sur- 
roundings. The  man  was  motionless,  as  though  he 
had  become  petrified  while  waiting  for  customers 
who  never  came. 

"Ah!"  said  Pedro  aloud,  "I  have  an  idea!" 

"You  have  had  enough  ideas  for  the  present," 
grumbled  Nita. 

"But  it  is  good!     Wait,  you  shall  see!"   cried 


A    BELIEF    IN    SIGNS  29 

Pedro.  "Stay  where  you  are,  all  of  you,  until  I 
beckon." 

Then,  thrusting  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  he 
strolled  nonchalantly  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
lunch -wagon. 

It  was  a  dingy  affair,  as  has  been  said,  and  upon 
its  tawdry  sides  the  lettering  had  grown  dim.  Still, 
it  was  easy  enough  to  make  out  the  inscription : 

— THE  ELITE — 
PIES,  COFFEE,  MILK,  FRANKFURTERS 

By  the  doorway  hung  a  battered  canvas  sign 
marked : 

SPECIAL  FOR  TO-DAY — EGG  SANDWICH 

Over  the  doorway  was  an  invitation  to  "walk 
in",  and  underneath  this  the  owner's  name — "Isaac 
Lovejoy,  Prop." — had  been  printed  small.  Pedro 
sidled  up  to  the  individual  who,  it  would  seem,  bore 
this  name  and  title. 

"Business  thriving  'bout  here?"  asked  Pedro  con- 
versationally, by  way  of  an  opening. 

The  man  gave  him  a  glance,  but  without  moving 
to  do  so. 


30  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BCXV 

"Nope!"  he  replied. 

"What !  In  a  place  where  travelers  must  pass  so 
often  ?"  Pedro  exclaimed,  lifting  his  eyebrows. 

"Yep !"  said  the  man,  still  motionless. 

"What  is  the  trouble?    Are  there  no  travelers?" 

"Travelers,  all  right,"  said  the  fat  man,  "but  no 
customers!  No  one  stops  here !  Why,  look  at  this !" 

Without  changing  his  position,  he  reached  behind 
him  with  one  hand,  and  brought  forth  a  large  sand- 
wich. 

"Look  at  this!"  he  repeated,  flapping  the  bread 
and  meat  at  Pedro,  "that's  a  fresh  sandwich,  that  is ; 
but  it  might  as  well  be  a  rubber  sandwich  for  all  it 
has  a  chance  of  bein'  eat!  That's  how  good  cus- 
tom is  around  here." 

He  slapped  the  edge  of  the  door  with  it,  and  re- 
placed it  inside  the  wagon,  Pedro's  eyes  following  it 
greedily. 

"What's  the  trouble,  do  you  think?"  Pedro  in- 
quired. 

"The  lunch-wagon  trust!"  exclaimed  the  man. 
"I'm  an  independent,  I  am;  but  everywhere  I  go 
where  there  might  be  good  business  doin' — say  a 
corner  near  a  factory,  or  any  such  real  wide-awake 
place — one  of  them  trust  wagons  is  there  before  me, 


A    BELIEF    IN    SIGNS  31 

all  shined  up  an'  covered  with  gold  paint  an'  plate- 
glass  !  A  fellow  like  me  ain't  got  no  show." 

"Why  don't  you  spruce  up  a  little  then,  eh?" 
asked  Pedro. 

"Why  don't  you  buy  somethin'  so's  I'll  get  the 
money  for  to  buy  the  gold  paint  with  ?"  retorted  the 
other. 

"Because  I  have  no  money,"  Pedro  replied. 

"Same  reason  here,  in  answer  to  your  first,"  cried 
the  fat  man  triumphantly. 

"Oh!"  said  Pedro. 

"Works  in  circles,  don't  it?"  said  Mr.  Lovejoy. 

There  was  a  pause  which  Pedro  ended,  glancing 
sidelong  at  the  lunch-wagon.  His  manner  was  very 
tentative. 

"Supposing,  now,"  said  he,  "that  I  could  put  you 
on  the  right  track  to  competing  with  those  trusts, 
eh?" 

"What  d'yer  mean  ?"  demanded  the  man. 

"Those  wagons  of  the  trust — they  are  all  alike?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Lovejoy,  "all  the  same ;  and  very 
slick  and  fancy/' 

"Aha!  Then  what  you  want  is  something  en- 
tirely different  from  them ;  something  to  make  peo- 
ple notice  you." 


32 

"Sure,  but  what?" 

"That,"  replied  Pedro,  "is  just  what  I  can  tell 
you.  I  have  a  proposition  to  make." 

The  man  scowled  at  him  for  a  moment,  as  though 
wondering  at  the  imprudence  of  this  whipper-snap- 
per's offering  to  deal  with  him.  Then  Pedro  looked 
at  him,  and  smiled  one  of  those  vivid  startling 
smiles  that  were  peculiar  to  him,  and  usually  took 
people  unawares,  making  them  smile  back  at  him 
before  they  really  knew  what  they  were  doing.  Nor 
did  it  fail  this  time.  The  flaccid  face  of  the  lunch- 
wagon  man  expanded  into  a  broad  grin. 

"That's  it!"  exclaimed  Pedro. 

"That's  what?"  asked  the  man,  growing  serious 
again. 

"Oh,  don't  spoil  it !"  cried  the  lad,  "that  smile  is 
just  what  you  need  to  attract  customers!" 

This  time  the  man  laughed. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "what  is  your  proposition,  young 
one?" 

"I  have  some  friends  with  me,"  began  Pedro; 
"all  those  over  there  and  the  bears.  We  are  all 
hungry,  see  ?  Now  I  will  paint  you  a  picture  on  the 
side  of  your  wagon,  and  also  I  will  paint  for  you  a 
new  sign;  and  if,  when  I  have  finished,  you  agree 


A    BELIEF    IN    SIGNS  33 

that  the  sign  and  the  picture  will  bring  you  custom- 
ers in  the  future,  you  will  feed  us  all,  not  forgetting 
the  bears,  eh  ?" 

The  fat  man  considered  a  long  time  before  reply- 
ing, and  Pedro  watched  him  anxiously.  With  one 
large  pale  hand  the  man  stroked  his  chin  several 
times,  as  though  caressing  an  imaginary  beard. 
Then  he  looked  at  the  group  upon  the  opposite  cor- 
ner and  counted  them  up  upon  his  stubby  fingers. 
Then  he  looked  at  Pedro  and  the  lunch-wagon  by 
turn. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "the  old  dog-wagon 
couldn't  look  no  worse'n  it  do  now;  an'  my  stock 
what  I  have  laid  in  will  get  spoiled  if  it  don't  get 
eat.  You  can  have  a  try,  young  one,  if  you  like." 

"Hurrah!"  said  Pedro,  and  hurried  over  to  tell 
Nita  and  the  others. 

A  musty  hardware  store  that  also  sold  grain 
and  lumber,  furnished  a  few  crude  materials.  Pedro 
looked  at  the  paints  dubiously,  but  accepted  them, 
as  there  was  nothing  else  to  do.  The  fat  man  paid 
for  them,  and  Pedro  carried  them  over  to  the  cart 
and  set  to  work. 

"Please,  one  thing,"  he  begged  of  its  proprietor, 
"don't  you  look  till  all  is  finished." 


34  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"All  right,"  agreed  the  man,  "I'll  set  here,  just 
inside  the  door,  and  read  outer  the  paper  till  you're 
done." 

Pedro  answered  nothing,  but  gave  a  glance  at  a 
little  mirror  that  hung  just  opposite  to  where  the 
unconscious  Mr.  Lovejoy  sat,  whipped  off  the  old 
green  coat,  and  began  working  frantically. 

The  proprietor  settled  himself  on  the  little  stool 
near  the  door,  and  faithful  to  his  promise,  unfolded 
a  pink  evening  paper.  Cautiously,  and  speaking  not 
at  all,  Old  Nita  drew  near,  leading  Mr.  Jones.  They 
sat  down  in  the  dust  beside  the  step,  and  watched 
Pedro  in  silence.  Then  came  Beau-Jean  and  Koko, 
followed  by  Gunny,  who  settled  themselves  beside 
the  old  woman.  The  sight  of  this  drew  Anna  and 
Rico,  who  came  slowly  to  join  the  group,  because 
Toto  still  limped.  And  lastly,  Carlos  and  Hermania 
laid  aside  an  ancient  dispute  which  they  had  un- 
earthed to  keep  ennui  at  arm's  length,  and  led  their 
animal  into  the  interested  circle.  After  a  few  min- 
utes two  hack-drivers  strolled  over  to  jeer,  and  re- 
mained to  watch  in  fascinated  silence.  They  were 
joined  before  long  by  several  of  their  fellows.  No 
train  being  due  just  then,  the  station  master  turned 
the  key  in  the  lock  of  his  cubby-hole,  and  emerged 


A    BELIEF    IN    SIGNS  35 

to  see  what  was  going  forward.  He  rubbed  elbows 
with  the  hardware-store  keeper,  who  was  keen  to  find 
out  the  use  to  which  his  wares  were  being  put.  From 
the  neighboring  saloon  came  the  red-faced,  white- 
aproned  bartender.  He  looked  twice,  wiped  his  face 
upon  a  bandana  handkerchief,  muttered,  "Holy 
mother,"  and  stood  rooted  to  the  spot.  Women  from 
the  dismal  flats  above  the  little  shops  joined  the 
crowd,  babies  in  arm,  and  about  their  skirts  the 
younger  ones  clung,  noisy  and  wondering.  A  hand- 
ful of  gamins,  all  that  the  town  boasted,  darted  in 
and  out,  and  fought  for  front  seats.  In  short,  be- 
fore half  an  hour  was  gone,  all  the  town,  for  the 
first  time  in  the  lunch-wagon's  history,  had  clus- 
tered before  its  door.  As  for  Pedro,  he  had  forgot- 
ten that  there  was  a  world  which  might  come  to  gape 
and  criticize.  He  was  working. 

But  if  the  painter  was  unconscious  of  the  crowd, 
the  proprietor  was  not  Twice  he  wanted  to  move, 
but  dared  not;  and  as  the  crowd  increased,  so  did 
his  impatience.  Finally  he  began  to  read  aloud 
from  the  newspaper,  to  relieve  his  feelings. 

'  'Wife  shoots .  husband ;  both  may  die'.  Hum, 
ain't  that  awful,  now?  'Girl  missing' — something 
fierce  the  way  girls  act  nowadays.  Here's  two  fellers 


36  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

broke  into  a  house  an'  took  all  the  lead-pipe.  Dear! 
dear!  they  got  three  months  for  it.  'May  be  trouble 
in  Venezuela' — ah!  Them  South  Americans  are  all 
the  time  makin'  trouble.  'May  be  trouble  in  Ven- 
ezuela over  asphalt'  .  .  .  Oh !  I  read  that  once 
already." 

"I  come  from  there,"  said  Old  Nita  suddenly. 

"From  where?"  asked  the  fat  man. 

"Venezuela,"  said  Nita. 

This  was  too  much  for  Mr.  Lovejoy.  He  could 
not  resist  taking  a  glance  at  her,  even  though  it  in- 
volved breaking  his  promise  not  to  move. 

"You  don't  say !"  he  exclaimed,  looking  her  over 
as  though  seeing  her  for  the  first  time  and  finding 
her  very  strange,  "you  don't  say !" 

"I  do !"  she  replied,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  Pedro  in 
a  peculiar  way. 

"Please!"  exclaimed  Pedro,  waving  his  brush  at 
the  fat  man,  who  guiltily  resumed  his  former  posi- 
tion. 

For  half  an  hour  longer,  or  more,  Pedro  worked, 
glancing  now  and  then  at  the  little  mirror  just  in- 
side the  door,  in  which  Mr.  Lovejoy 's  unconscious 
face  was  reflected.  There  began  to  be  an  occasional 


A    BELIEF    IN    SIGNS  37 

tittering  from  the  crowd,  and  then,  later,  spontane- 
ous bursts  of  laughter. 

"When  kin  I  come  out?"  cried  Mr.  Lovejoy  at  in- 
tervals, and — 

"Wait,"  commanded  Pedro.  Feverishly  he  add- 
ed the  finishing  touches  to  his  production,  and  then 
at  length  stood  back  and  invited  his  patron  to  de- 
scend. As  the  fat  man  came  down  the  steps  there 
was  a  little  burst  of  applause  which  he  was  at  a  loss 
to  understand  until  he  stood  before  his  transformed 
place  of  business. 

All  the  old  lettering,  already  faint,  had  been  ob- 
literated, and  in  the  center  of  the  largest  space  was 
a  portrait-head  of  himself — a  large  laughing  por- 
trait, just  like  him,  yet  irresistibly  merry.  It  was  a 
face  at  which  one  instantly  smiled  in  sympathy ;  in- 
deed it  wore  the  very  "smile  to  attract  customers" 
as  Pedro  had  said.  Withal  it  was  a  remarkable 
piece  of  work,  though  coarsely  laid  in  (not  that  its 
original  was  critic  enough  to  know  this),  but  the 
least  knowing  could  not  have  failed  to  be  attracted 
by  it.  Its  possibilities  as  a  magnet  for  trade  were 
undeniable.  Over  this  extraordinary  production 
Pedro  had  painted  in  neat  black  letters: 


38  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY, 

I.  LOVEJOY 

EATING  is  JOYFUL 

COME  IN  AND  EAT— 

I  LOVE  TO  SEE  You  Do  IT 

Then  underneath : 

LOVEJOY'S  Luscious  LUNCHES 

After  a  moment  of  spellbound  silence,  the  fat 
man  drew  a  long  breath. 

"You  win !"  he  said  to  Pedro,  a  smile  like  that  in 
the  picture  overspreading  his  large  countenance. 

In  a  second  the  square  was  in  an  uproar,  the 
crowd  expressing  its  delight  noisily.  Small  boys  set 
up  a  hooting  and  yelling,  and  three  hackmen,  who 
had  never  before  patronized  the  place,  purchased 
sandwiches  upon  the  spot.  In  a  circle  sat  Old  Nita, 
Pedro  and  the  rest,  a  bear  between  each  couple, 
and  Mr.  Lovejoy  fed  them  all  generously.  Then, 
just  as  the  weary  Pedro  was  accepting  a  cup  of  cof- 
fee and  a  gigantic  plateful  of  doughnuts  from  the 
hand  of  his  patron,  the  whir  of  an  automobile 
caused  him  to  look  around.  All  unperceived  it  had 
been  standing  near  for  some  time,  and  now  bestirred 
itself  at  the  approach  of  the  train  it  had  come  to 
meet.  As  it  moved  away,  a  girl  in  the  rear  seat  stood 


A    BELIEF    IN    SIGNS  39 

up  for  a  last  backward  look  at  the  little  crowd,  and 
then,  against  the  clear  blue  of  the  sky,  Pedro  beheld 
a  fleeting  vision  of  red-gold  hair. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  LOSS  AND  A  FIND 

"TT  AM  sure  that  there  must  be  color  in  our  souls," 
i  said  Iris  Vanderpool. 

"At  this  moment,"  replied  Mr.  Samuel  Hill,  "my 
soul  is  the  exact  hue  of  tea  with  lemon  in  it,  shading 
off  to  the  color  of  a  jam  sandwich." 

With  a  petulant  little  gesture,  Iris  turned  from 
the  window  out  of  which  she  had  been  gazing  at  the 
slowly  darkening  city. 

"You  always  spoil  my  best  ideas!"  she  said. 
"Why  can't  you  reply  sympathetically?  But  you 
shall  have  tea,  of  course." 

The  room  in  which  the  two  were  talking  was  a 
curious  one :  all  gray  and  green,  and  quite  unlike 
anything  one  would  have  been  led  to  expect  by  the 
exterior  of  the  house,  which  was  large,  old-fash- 
ioned, and  situated  in  the  aristocratic  section  of  Fifth 
Avenue  which  lies  below  Fourteenth  Street.  All 
along  one  side  of  the  room  ran  a  Japanese  screen 
of  gray  silk,  upon  which  were  embroidered  great 

40 


A    LOSS   AND   A   FIND  41 

white  birds.  This  was  the  most  conspicuous  of  the 
furnishings,  and  the  rest  seemed  to  have  been  cho- 
sen with  the  sole  idea  of  subordinating  them  to  it. 
The  furniture  was  all  of  gray,  and  scarcely  notice- 
able, except  in  a  far  corner,  where  upon  a  teak-wood 
sacrifice-table  there  blazed  a  blue  jar,  like  a  gem. 

The  impression  was  of  elimination;  of  striving 
after  an  effect  which  was  not  quite  sincere.  Still,  it 
was  very  beautiful  in  its  way,  and  set  off  the  red- 
haired  girl,  who  was  its  mistress,  to  great  advantage. 
Now,  as  she  came  away  from  the  window,  her 
graceful  figure  was  silhouetted  curiously  against  the 
wonderful  old  screen;  while  her  hair  was  thrown 
into  relief  upon  the  gray,  so  that  the  red-gold  of  it 
seemed  like  a  halo.  Her  features  were  cameo-like. 
The  pose  into  which  she  dropped  as  she  pressed  the 
almost  invisible  bell  was  so  naive  that  the  man 
watching  her  laughed  a  little,  the  while  he  was  in- 
wardly thrilled  by  her  beauty. 

"Oh,  yes !  you  do  look  awfully  well  there !"  he  said 
teasingly. 

Again  the  girl  was  vexed  at  his  failure  to  play 
up  to  her  little  scene.  As  she  crossed  over  to  seat 
herself  beside  him,  he  noted  the  shade  that  cloud- 
ed her  eyes.  She  settled  herself  in  her  corner  of 


42  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

the  sofa,  and  he  leaned  over,  taking  both  her  hands 
in  his. 

"You  mustn't  be  cross,"  he  said  tenderly.  "You 
looked  simply  corking,  posing  there.  Honestly,  you 
did!" 

But  she  was  not  to  be  appeased,  and  withdrew 
her  hands  impatiently. 

"Simply  corking!"  she  quoted  in  a  tone  of  dis- 
gust. "What  an  expression !  Why  don't  you  learn 
to  use  the  sort  of  language  one  would  expect!  a 
painter — a  real  painter — to  use?  You  are  never  in 
the  least  poetical.  It  is  so  disappointing  to  me.  At 
least,  you  needn't  use  slang  when  you  are  making 
love  to  me !" 

"But  Iris—" 

"What  is  more,"  she  continued,  ignoring  his  in- 
terruption, "I  think  you  owe  it  to  me  to  be  a  little 
more — more  romantic!  No!  That  is  a  poor  word 
to  express  my  meaning.  A  little  more  poetic!  Why, 
you  don't  even  look  like  an  artist  any  more !" 

"Don't  I?"  said  he,  slowly  rising  and  regarding 
himself  in  a  mirror  opposite. 

It  must  be  granted  that  her  accusation  in  regard 
to  this  last  item  was  a  just  one,  for  the  reflection 
which  faced  him  did  not  in  the  least  resemble  the 


A    LOSS    AND    A    FIND  43 

traditional  or  stage-manager  type  of  artist.  It  was 
a  man  of  moderate  height  who  stared  back  at  Sam 
Hill  from  the  mirror;  a  well-set-up  man  of  perhaps 
thirty-one  or  two.  His  features  were  good  but  or- 
dinary, and  the  trim  little  brown  mustache  above 
the  well-cut  upper  lip  lent  him  the  appearance  of  a 
far  more  foppish  type  than  that  to  which  he  hon- 
estly belonged.  His  eyes  were  gray  and  humorous, 
well  set,  with  deep  markings  of  blue  at  the  inner 
corners.  His  hair  was  brown,  and  brushed  in  the 
latest  fashion,  and  his  clothes  were  remarkably  well 
cut  and  immaculate.  On  the  whole  his  appearance 
was  that  of  a  well-groomed,  well — but  not  too  well- 
fed,  dapper,  prosperous  citizen,  whose  calling  might 
be  anything  from  the  stock  market  to  the  manufac- 
turing of  commodities;  anything,  indeed,  except  a 
painter. 

"Iris,"  said  he  after  a  moment  of  silent  inspec- 
tion, "must  a  fellow  really  have  long  hair  in  order 
to  be  a  good  painter,  do  you  think?" 

"Don't  be  absurd!"  she  answered;  "it  isn't  that, 
of  course!  But  it  is  something  deeper,  something 
more  important,  far.  Why,  if  I  did  not  see  the 
lovely  things  you  do  with  your  brush,  I  could  not 
believe  you  were  an  artist.  You  never  give  out 


44  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

your  temperament  in  any  other  way,  and  I  am  hun- 
gry for  it." 

"For  what?"  he  asked.  "A  lot  of  silly  talk  about 
the  color  of  your  soul?  Lord !  girlie,  can't  you  learn 
to  live  those  things  instead  of  talking  about  them? 
Can't  you  see  that  they  lose  in  value  if  expressed  in 
any  but  the  highest  way?  One  has  to  keep  one's 
mouth  shut  in  order  that  all  the  strength  be  left  for 
one's  hand." 

"And  apply  none  of  it  to  daily  life?"  she  cried. 

"Live  it;  don't  apply  it,"  he  answered  dryly. 

"One  grows  by  expression !"  she  declared ;  "by  ex- 
pression of  every  sort.  My  father's  friends,  lots  of 
the  people  who  come  here,  are  living  splendidly  in- 
side themselves,  and  they  give  it  out,  and  conse- 
quently they  are  interesting.  When  I  became  en- 
gaged to  you,  I  thought  I  was  going  to  find  the  same 
sort  of  intercourse,  only  intensified.  But  you  are 
not  what  I  thought  you  were,  and  my  soul  is  un- 
satisfied." 

At  this  dramatic  juncture  tea  arrived,  and  for  a 
few  moments  there  was  silence  while  she  inspected 
it  and  dismissed  the  servant.  Hill  strolled  about, 
humming  under  his  breath.  When  the  door  had 


A    LOSS   AND    A    FIND  45 

shut,  he  stopped  his  pacing  and  resumed  his  place 
beside  her. 

"Look  here,  dearest,"  said  he  lightly,  "don't  go 
for  me  the  first  day  you  get  home.  It's  a  long  while 
— two  entire  weeks — since  we  have  been  together, 
and  here  we  go,  off  the  handle,  first  thing.  Let's 
cut  it  out,  and  be  sweet  to  each  other  instead.  Tell 
me,  did  you  motor  down  from  Stamford?  And  did 
your  father  come  with  you?" 

"We  only  came  as  far  as  Harrison  in  the  car," 
she  answered  sullenly.  Then  a  picture  which  she 
had  seen  at  recurring  intervals  for  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours  came  before  her  mental  vision  again.  It 
was  of  a  curious  group  gathered  about  a  slender 
young  figure  of  a  man  who  worked  at  the  decora- 
tion of  a  lunch-wagon.  She  could  see  the  handsome 
earnest  face  with  startling  vividness. 

"And  your  father,  dear,"  persisted  Hill,  ignoring 
although  noting  her  abstraction,  "when  are  you  go- 
ing to  let  me  speak  to  him  about  you?  I  want  him 
to  know,  and  every  one  to  know  of  our  engagement 
Did  he  come  down?" 

"Yes,  but  on  the  train,"  she  replied  still  absently. 

"Then  I'll  talk  to  him  to-night,"  exclaimed  Hill. 


46  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Now  tell  me  about  the  last  couple  of  weeks.  You're 
not  a  very  satisfactory  correspondent,  you  know. 
What  did  you  do  at  the  farm  ?" 

For  a  moment  she  was  about  to  tell  him  of  Pedro 
and  the  bear,  but  as  she  looked  at  her  lover  the  cer- 
tainty was  borne  in  upon  her  that  if  she  did  so,  the 
incident  would  lose  its  glamour.  So  she  said  noth- 
ing of  it. 

"I  walked,  and  rode  horseback,  as  usual,"  she  re- 
plied. "There  was  time  for  once  for  me  to  learn  to 
know  myself;  to  commune  with  my  inner  conscious- 
ness. I  read  Swinburne.  Do  you  know,  I  think  his 
aura  must  have  been  blue,  like  mine?" 

Sam  Hill  helped  himself  to  a  fifth  jam  sandwich 
before  replying. 

"That  must  have  been  great;  especially  the  rid- 
ing," he  exclaimed.  "And  that  reminds  me,  Iris, 
there  is  a  wonderful  house  at  the  Winter  Garden. 
I'll  get  seats  for  to-morrow,  if  you  say  so.  You'll 
like  it,  I'm  sure.  There  are  some  bully  acrobats, 
too." 

With  the  air  of  a  tragedy 'queen,  Miss  Vander- 
pool  arose  and  swept  to  the  center  of  the  room,  her 
gray,  gown  coiling  about  her  feet  like  clouds  of 
smoke.  Very  young  she  looked,  and  quite  like  a 


A    LOSS    AND    A    FIND  47 

child  dressed  up  and  acting  a  play.  But  to  her  own 
mind,  she  was  a  woman  hurt  in  her  sensitive  soul. 
Withal,  she  had  a  certain  dignity  despite  her  youth, 
consequent,  perhaps,  on  the  position  which  had  been 
hers  since  the  death  of  the  mother  she  could  scarce- 
ly remember. 

"Why,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter?"  cried  Hill, 
admiring  her  immensely,  unspeakably. 

"Matter?"  she  cried  tragically;  "you  ask  me 
that?  I  tell  you  that  my  soul  is  hungry — starved! 
and  you  retort  with  an  invitation  to  a  music-hall ! 
It  is  unthinkable!  How  can  you?  You  have  no 
sympathy,  no  understanding.  I  hate  you.  There !" 

She  turned  from  him  abruptly. 

"Iris!"  he  cried,  springing  to  her  side  and  put- 
ting his  arm  about  her.  "You  must  not  say  such 
things,  you  silly  child.  When  I  leave  my  work,  I 
want  to  play — just  to  play  like  a  child — and  a 
trained  horse  amuses  me;  frankly  and  truly,  I  do 
like  it.  You  hardly  ever  laugh  for  sheer  merriment. 
It's  most  neurotic,  I'm  darned  if  it  isn't!" 

"I'm  not  a  silly  child,"  cried  Iris  hotly,  disengag- 
ing herself  from  his  embrace.  "I'm  not  neurotic! 
My  soul  is  torn." 

"Oh,  marry  me  right  away,  and  let  your  soul  go 


48  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

hang !"  exclaimed  Hill.  "All  you  need  is  a  taste  of 
life!  Honestly  I  understand  about  this  feeling  of 
yours,  dear.  Believe  me,  work  and  living  in  ear- 
nest, are  the  answers  and  the  cure." 

"You  don't  understand!"  she  cried;  "every  word 
you  utter  makes  that  plainer.  You  never  have  any 
great  emotional  experiences — at  least,  that  I  can  see 
— and  so,  of  course,  you  can't  recognize  them  as 
real  in  others.  You  may  be  an  artist  on  canvas,  but 
you  are  not  an  artist  of  life,  and  that  is  far  more 
important!  I  suppose  you  will  go  on  leading  your 
ordered  existence  forever.  I  shall  stifle  if  I  have 
to  share  it!  And  I  thought  you  were  a  romantic 
figure.  Why,  you  work  as  regularly  as  any  business 
man,  and  as  hard!" 

"A  curious  complaint,"  said  he,  the  half-smile 
dying  upon  his  lips.  "You  know  little,  dear,  of  life, 
or  you  would  not  talk  like  this.  Control  is  the  pass- 
word to  success.  It  is  a  bitter  fact,  perhaps,  but  one 
we  all  have  to  learn." 

The  atmosphere  of  the  strange  gray  room  had 
become  tense,  for  the  dispute  that  had  arisen  al- 
most banteringly,  had  changed  to  a  crucial  thing, 
and  both  persons  concerned  were  suddenly  aware 
of  it. 


A    LOSS   AND    A    FIND  49 

"That  is  a  theory  which  I  do  not  intend  to  live 
by,"  she  said  rather  breathlessly. 

"How  am  I  to  take  that?"  said  the  man. 

"As  you  see  fit,"  she  replied.  "I  mean  to  live  by 
expression.  I  used  to  think  that  you  did  so.  You 
have  changed." 

"For  your  sake!"  he  expostulated,  suddenly  an- 
gry. "If  I  have  whipped  myself  into  some  sem- 
blance of  a  human  being,  it  has  been — I  was  going 
to  say,  for  you ;  but  it  is  more  than  that  It  has 
been  for  the  work's  own  sake.  And  now  you  are 
ready  to  repudiate  me  because  of  that  very  accom- 
plishment. You  are  unfair,  -unreasonable." 

"Oh,  don't  be  so  logical,  or  I  shall  go  mad!"  she 
cried.  "I  hate  your  reasonableness !" 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  he,  trying  to  smile,  "I'll 
be  unreasonable." 

"And  don't  be  facetious!  Oh,  go  away,  I  can't 
endure  you !" 

"Look  here,  Iris,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "I'm  not  jok- 
ing. God  forbid !  This  is  getting  too  serious.  Am 
I  really  to  go?" 

"Or  let  your  spirit  out  of  its  cage,"  she  said. 

For  the  third  time,  Hill  committed  his  greatest 
mistake. 


50  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"You  are  a  foolish  child!"  he  said  angrily. 
"Very  well,  then,  I'll  go.  But  I  warn  you,  if  you 
send  me  off,  I'll  not  come  back." 

For  a  moment  he  waited,  hoping  that  she  would 
speak,  but  she  said  nothing,  merely  standing  there 
and  trembling  a  little,  though  white  and  silent. 
Suddenly  Hill  turned  on  his  heel. 

"Confound  all  women!"  he  muttered,  and  with- 
out a  single  backward  glance,  flung  himself  out  of 
the  room  in  a  fury. 

For  a  moment  or  two  longer  she  stood  motionless, 
and  then  throwing  her  arms  out  wildly,  she  cried 
his  name  aloud. 

"Oh,  Sam !"  she  called,  "come  back — please  come 
back!" 

Running  out  into  the  upper  hall,  she  arrived  at 
the  stair-head  just  in  time  to  hear  the  front  door 
close  after  him,  and  was  instantly  obliged  to  flee  the 
mildly-inquiring  gaze  of  the  footman,  who  came  in 
to  remove  the  tea-tray.  When  he  was  gone,  how- 
ever, she  cast  herself  face  downward  among  the 
gray  cushions  of  the  sofa  and  cried  bitterly,  a  cold 
horror  clutching  at  her  heart  as  she  slowly  came  to 
see  the  reality  of  what  she  had  done. 

For  Hill  had  spoken  the  truth  when  he  implied 


A    LOSS   AND    A    FIND  51 

that  she  was  merely  a  child  bored  with  luxurious 
surroundings  and  striving  after  she  knew  not  what. 
Her  father  adored  her,  and  gave  her  absolute  lib- 
erty. The  people  whom  she  knew  by  inheritance 
meant  little  to  her;  she  found  them  introspective, 
self-absorbed,  and  amateurs  at  the  arts  they  affected, 
many  of  them  simply  hangers-on  of  her  beauty-lov- 
ing father,  who  with  the  years  had  become  less  the 
man  of  affairs,  and  more  the  man  of  letters  and  pa- 
tron of  the  arts.  As  she  grew  up,  her  discontent  in- 
creased, until  finally,  within  the  last  two  years,  she 
had  stumbled  upon  a  group  of  people  with  whom 
brains  meant  aristocracy.  Here  she  had  met  Hill, 
and  after  about  a  year,  he  had  persuaded  her  to  be- 
come engaged  to  him.  She  had  consented  on  condi- 
tion that  it  remain  a  secret  for  the  time  being.  There 
had  been  no  reason  for  concealment  but  the  girl's  in- 
nate love  of  romance  and  mystification.  And  so  no 
one  had  been  told  of  the  engagement,  although  it 
was  a  well-known  and  widely-discussed  subject 
among  their  friends. 

And  it  was  all  over !  Well,  possibly  it  was  for  the 
best 

She  buried  her  face  deeper  in  the  esthetic  gray 
cushions.  Her  soul  must  have  expression  !  It  must! 


52  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

If  only  he  would  do  something  really  great  for  his 
art!  But  there  was  no  hope  of  that.  She  felt  be- 
reft, weary,  yet  tried  hard  to  remain  unrepentant. 
For  (she  told  herself)  no  matter  how  it  hurt,  it  was 
better  to  break  with  him  than  to  continue  with  him, 
since  he  stifled  her  so,  and  yet — 

Desperately  unhappy,  but  not  without  a  certain 
enjoyment  of  her  own  misery,  she  arose  with  the 
determination  to  find  her  father,  and  extract  what 
comfort  she  could  from  him,  without  telling  him  her 
trouble.  Perhaps  he  was  in  his  library  now.  She 
would  go  and  see.  Slowly  she  descended  the  wide 
stairs.  At  the  street  entrance  stood  her  father,  evi- 
dently on  the  point  of  leaving  the  house. 

Vanderpool  was  a  handsome  man,  and  had  re- 
tained an  intangible  atmosphere  of  youth,  despite  the 
responsibilities  of  his  wealth,  and  despite  the  obvious 
fact  that  he  had  lived  intensely  in  the  emotional  side 
of  his  nature.  Peculiarly  graceful  in  every  move- 
ment, alert,  his  hair,  which  was  nearly  white,  was  the 
only  indication  of  age  about  him ;  and  by  contrast  to 
the  thick  mass  of  it,  his  face  looked  the  fresher,  and 
his  eyes  more  blue.  He  was  truly  a  romantic  figure, 
and  despite  his  extremely  fashionable  clothing  he 
would  have  appeared  to  be  poet  or  actor,  rather  than 


A    LOSS    AND    A    FIND  53 

practical  man  of  affairs.  At  sight  of  Iris  he  smiled, 
the  habitual  melancholy  vanishing  from  his  face  as 
fog  before  sunshine.  Then  he  ran  his  gloved  fin- 
gers down  the  length  of  black  ribbon  that  secured 
his  eye-glasses,  found  them,  and  regarded  his 
daughter. 

"Hello,  little  Iris !"  he  said.  "You  seem  a  bit  pale, 
my  dear!  Were  you  looking  for  me?" 

"Yes,  father!"  replied  Iris,  "but  I — you  are  go- 
ing out,  I  see,  so — " 

"I've  an  appointment  that  is  rather  pressing," 
said  he,  a  little  anxious  pucker  gathering  between 
his  eyes,  "but  if  your  business  can't  wait,  mine  will 
have  to." 

"Oh!  mine  is  nothing,  nothing!"  said  Iris,  with 
what  seemed  to  her  divine  submission  to  fate. 

"Then  we'll  have  a  fine  talk  at  breakfast,"  re- 
turned her  father.  "I'm  dining  out  Good  night, 
my  dear!" 

The  door  closed  behind  him,  and  Iris  turned  into 
the  library. 

Through  the  high  windows  of  stained  glass  a  dull 
light  still  filtered;  upon  a  broad  table  of  gleaming 
oak,  black  with  age,  a  shaded  lamp  burned  dimly. 
Lured  by  the  somber  quiet  of  the  place,  she  curled 


54  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

herself  up  in  a  large  armchair,  and  leaned  her  tired 
little  head  against  its  cushioned  back. 

The  room  spoke  strongly  of  her  father.  It  was 
large  and  fine  and  romantic,  like  him;  it  was  dig- 
nified, too,  containing  several  almost  priceless  treas- 
ures. Over  the  mantel-shelf  hung  a  world-famous 
Madonna,  the  plain-faced  peasant  girl  who  had 
posed  for  it,  cuddling  her  child  and  smiling  down 
the  long  vista  of  centuries  from  beneath  her  hood  of 
blue.  Below  the  window  ran  a  low  chest,  framed 
from  what  had  once  been  the  altar  of  a  Spanish 
church,  while  on  either  hand,  row  upon  row,  up  to 
the  vaulted  ceiling  rose  the  ranks  of  books,  well 
worn  or  in  new  covers :  thousands  of  them — a  rare 
and  well-loved  collection.  But  perhaps  the  most 
unique  feature  of  the  apartment  was  the  great  low 
desk.  It  was  a  Flemish  piece,  unusual  in  shape  and 
construction,  and  covered  with  a  multitude  of  intri- 
cate ornaments,  carved  deep  into  its  heavy  surface. 
It  was  a  massive  hand  that  produced  it.  Upon  its 
broad  surface  lay  a  few  letters  addressed  to  her 
father,  carefully  placed  by  the  precise  hand  of  his 
secretary.  There  were  also  a  calendar  of  a  practi- 
cal sort  and  the  usual  writing  implements,  neatly 
arranged. 


A    LOSS   AND    A    FIND  55 

Vanderpool  had  never  been  a  very  light-hearted 
person,  but  he  had  a  subtle  charm  which  was  more 
fascinating  than  any  gaiety  could  be,  and  his  rare 
smile  was  a  thing  to  be  remembered.  Of  her 
mother,  Iris  had  no  recollection,  but  from  her  earli- 
est childhood  she  had  seen  her  father  as  an  indi- 
vidual, instead  of  merely  as  "father",  a  being  from 
whom  came  the  luxuries  of  material  existence;  and 
she  had  always  adored  him.  There  was  a  cloud 
over  his  existence,  she  knew,  and  she  assumed  it 
to  be  the  loss  of  her  mother.  But  this  explanation 
was  not  sufficient  to  account  for  the  depression 
which  had  come  upon  him  lately.  The  difficulty 
with  which  he  was  obviously  struggling  could 
scarcely  be  financial,  she  reasoned,  since  he  was  cer- 
tain to  warn  her  against  any  excessive  expenditure; 
and  although  their  mode  of  living  was  lavish  in  the 
extreme,  he  had  given  no  hint  that  its  curtailment 
was  desirable.  What  could  the  trouble  be?  Had  it 
to  do  with  those  letters  which  came  by  registered 
mail,  with  foreign  stamps,  some  of  which  the 
tramp  by  the  wayside  at  Stamford  had  so  nearly 
stolen  from  her?  Stamford!  If  only  she  had 
stayed  in  the  free  innocent  air  of  the  country, 
among  the  crimson  maples,  where  troubles  slipped 


56  THE   IMPOSSIBLE   BOY 

from  one  so  easily.  Her  thoughts  flew  to  her  erst- 
while lover,  and  bitter  regret  welled  up  afresh  in 
her  heart 

"Oh,  Sam!"  she  wailed  aloud,  and  cast  herself 
across  the  desk-board,  grasping  the  carvings  oppo- 
site with  agonized  white  fingers. 

Then  suddenly  an  utterly  unexpected,  astonish- 
ing thing  happened.  The  carved  ornament  beneath 
her  right  hand  flew  outward  with  a  spring.  Iris 
raised  her  tear-stained  face  in  amazement,  and 
there  before  her  lay  open  a  secret  compartment, 
responsive  to  her  unwitting  touch.  It  was  a  shal- 
low drawer,  about  six  by  ten  inches  in  diameter, 
and  was  filled  with  papers,  written  out  in  Spanish 
(to  her  an  unintelligible  language),  the  script  being 
that  fine  close  one  of  which  she  had  just  been 
thinking.  There  were  a  number  of  these,  but  stran- 
ger still,  on  top  of  them  lay  a  miniature  in  a  frame 
of  brilliants.  At  this  she  stared  long,  with  fasci- 
nated incredulous  eyes,  for  the  face  was  that  of  the 
youth  who  had  sung  before  the  cobbler's  shop ;  the 
youth  who,  with  his  bear,  had  saved  her  from  the 
tramp ;  the  youth  who,  later,  she  had  watched  paint 
the  wagon  in  the  grimy  suburban  square ! 


CHAPTER  IV 

THAT  WHICH  IS  NO  ROBBERY 

MEANWHILE  Sam  Hill  had  flung  himself 
into  the  street,  and  into  a  state  of  mind 
which  was  the  reverse  of  enviable.  Reason  was  sud- 
denly impossible.  The  arguments  which  he  had  ad- 
vanced to  Iris  but  a  moment  since  now  failed  him, 
and  his  one  mastering,  overwhelming  thought  was 
that  he  had  lost  her.  The  idea  had  nothing  of  the 
element  of  incredulity  in  it ;  it  was  horribly,  terribly 
real,  overshadowing  the  possibility  of  any  other 
thought.  Lost!  He  had  lost  her!  She  had  sent 
him  away! 

It  had  all  happened  so  suddenly  that  the  shock  left 
him  gasping.  Probably  she  had  never  really  cared 
from  the  first,  he  thought,  for  had  she  ever  been  in 
love  with  him  she  could  not  have  dismissed  him  on 
so  flimsy  a  pretext.  That  his  lack  of  "artistic"  at- 
mosphere was  really  what  she  felt  the  need  of  so  bit- 
terly, he  did  not  for  a  moment  believe.  The  only 
alternative,  however,  appeared  to  be  that  she  had 

57 


58  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

never  really  known  him  for  what  he  was,  seeing  him 
through  a  glamour  which  she  had  created  around  his 
profession.  Could  a  few  trappings,  a  velvet  coat, 
long  hair,  soft  ties  and  such  things  be  sufficient  to 
hold  her?  Were  they  really  more  important  in  her 
mind  than  what  a  fellow  actually  was?  Incredible! 
The  only  aspect  of  the  situation  that  held  a  ray 
of  light  for  him,  was  that  she  had  found  out  her  mis- 
take before  it  was  too  late.  He  loved  her  so  well 
that  for  a  moment  the  burden  of  his  grief  at  losing 
her  was  lifted  by  the  realization  that  she  had  es- 
caped the  irreparable  misfortune  of  marrying  him. 
Poor  child !  he  thought,  she  should  not  be  made  to 
suffer  because  of  his  continued  presence,  either.  He 
would  go  away,  to  some  far  place  where  she  would 
never  see  him.  The  awful  possibility  of  their  being 
obliged  to  meet  under  the  inquisitorial  eyes  of  their 
friends  could  be  eliminated.  He  would  hide  him- 
self in  order  that  she  might  be  free  to  go  about. 
That  her  outburst  had  been  merely  because  of  her 
youth,  he  fully  understood.  There  was  nothing  fun- 
damentally unfair  or  unwomanly  about  her.  She 
was  simply  the  victim  of  the  unreal  atmosphere  in 
which  she  had  lived.  If  only  he  could  take  her  out  of 
it!  Poor  little  girl,  how  young  she  looked,  how  frail, 


THAT   WHICH    IS    NO    ROBBERY      59 

as  she  stood  there  with  her  beautiful  angry  face!  A 
black  misery  filled  his  soul,  a  hatred  of  himself,  and 
a  wretched  sense  of  failure  in  the  thing  most  vital  to 
him  in  life. 

While  this  passed  through  his  brain,  he  had  been 
walking  rapidly,  and  after  a  few  moments,  coming 
upon  Washington  Square,  he  flung  himself  upon 
one  of  the  benches  near  the  center,  stretching  his  legs 
out  straight  in  front  of  him,  folding  his  arms,  and, 
frowning  under  the  tilted  brim  of  his  hat,  he  sat 
moodily  staring  into  space. 

Darkness  had  not  quite  fallen  yet,  and  all  about 
him  poured  the  homeward-bound  crowds  from  the 
neighboring  shops,  factories,  and  offices: — an  un- 
ceasing stream,  varied  as  the  nations  of  the  earth. 
From  the  north  side  the  generous  old  houses  of 
mellow  brick  looked  on  in  dignified  somnolence. 
From  the  south  stared  the  wide  windows  of  a  row  of 
buildings,  motley  as  the  crowd  they  faced,  and  as 
scarred  with  the  throes  of  living.  Here  dwelt  and 
strove  with  agonized  souls  many  who  fell  or  merely 
struggled  on  in  the  cause  of  an  art  which  the  north 
side,  in  idle  moments,  sometimes  condescended  to 
patronize,  lorgnette  to  nose,  always  without  enthusi- 
asm, always  with  a  sense  of  bestowing  a  favor.  To 


60  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

the  west  a  few  semi-modern  apartment-houses 
rubbed  shoulders  with  their  more  ancient  neigh- 
bors, the  spacious  low-roofed  residences  of  two  gen- 
erations past.  Here  and  there,  up  the  bulging  fa- 
£ades  of  the  former,  lights  were  beginning  to  flower 
forth. 

At  the  eastern  end  of  the  park  tall  buildings 
massed,  lowering,  the  advance  bulwarks  of  com- 
merce spreading  octopus-like  beyond. 

Between  such  boundaries  then,  lay  the  Square,  a 
pitiful  scrap  of  nature's  handiwork,  snatched  from 
the  country  and  imprisoned  here,  to  be  mauled  into 
ugliness  by  the  eager  multitudes  who  came  to  use  it; 
a  shamefully  inadequate  little  handkerchief  of  green, 
cast  down  amid  a  parched  waste  of  stone  and  mor- 
tar; yet  precious,  and  valued,  too.  In  its  center 
arose  the  white  rainbow  of  the  Washington  Arch, 
spanning  a  stream  of  clumsy  vehicles  of  trade.  And 
around  it,  down  the  paths,  across  the  intersecting 
and  boundary  roads,  went  the  people,  newly  released 
from  toil,  hurrying  to  such  a  variety  of  habitations 
as  the  mind  can  scarcely  grasp  or,  grasping,  believe. 

Here  one  saw  cheaply  clad  shop-girls,  singly  or 
in  little  groups,  their  silhouettes  outlining  the  sharp- 
est cut  of  the  latest  fashion.  In  the  same  wave 


THAT   WHICH    IS    NO    ROBBERY,     61 

with  them  were  the  younger  members  of  their  sex, 
who  followed  the  same  trade, — pale-faced  little  girls, 
half-women,  half-children,  whose  garments  were  a 
curious  garbling  of  both.  Their  laughter  was  shriJl 
from  sheer  relief  at  their  release  from  the  tedious- 
ness  of  tying  up  endless  parcels.  Following  these, 
the  elder  and  younger  alike,  were  lean  youths  who 
seemed  mere  match-board  marionettes  inside  their 
exaggerated  clothes,  calloused  young  men  with 
blotched  faces  and  bad  eyes,  following,  following 
ever,  hats  a-tilt  and  cigarettes  dangling  from  loose 
lips. 

Jews  with  long  beards  went  by,  and  stumpy  Jews 
and  Russians  and  Poles,  stunted  in  mind  and  body 
by  long  service  in  factories  where  white  foamy  gar- 
ments are  made  in  their  thousands,  at  the  cost  of  im- 
mortal souls.  Through  the  park  came  laborers  with 
slouching  gait ;  a  group  of  them  chattered  in  Italian 
about  the  misdoings  of  some  padrone.  In  a  side 
street,  just  glimpsed,  a  second  gang  piled  their  picks 
into  the  yawning  blue  tool-chest,  standing  in  line  to 
do  it,  and  then  came  filing  across  the  Square,  leaving 
a  little  garden  of  red  lights  where  they  had  been 
toiling.  From  the  Little  Club  a  knot  of  laughing 
art  students  came  racing.  Arm  in  arm  they  sang  as 


62  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

they  crossed  to  the  French  restaurant  which  fur- 
nished them  a  dinner  of  mystery  for  little  more  than 
the  song  itself.  Up  Fifth  Avenue  the  double  string 
of  glowing  pearls,  which  illuminates  it,  had  been 
strung.  The  crowd  was  lessening  now. 

One  by  one  the  noises  began  to  subside.  Only  an 
occasional  late  worker  scurried  past,  and  the  Square 
was  gradually  emptying  of  all  save  its  habitues. 
The  number  of  these  was  increased  by  shabby  figures 
who  drifted  in  at  random,  blown  there  by  some 
whirlwind  of  the  city,  like  atoms  in  a  dust  cloud. 

It  grew  darker. 

Infrequently,  a  dray,  with  great,  heavy,  fringed- 
hoofed  Flanders  horses,  clattered  past,  their  drivers 
little  needing  to  urge  the  homeward-bound  beasts. 
How  they  rumbled  and  swayed,  towering  loads  de- 
posited afar,  laths  and  poles  rattling  loosely.  Into 
the  surrounding  gloom  they  vanished,  roaring, 
squeaking,  jolting  over  the  cobblestones. 

Quieter  and  yet  more  quiet  grew  the  Square.  At 
this  hour  the  virtuous  were  eating  in  their  homes, 
while  the  wicked  fed  in  luxury  over  there  to  the 
northwest,  where  already  the  white  flare  of  middle 
Broadway  was  flung  against  the  darkened  sky.  Over 
all  hung  the  indefinable  yet  definite  spirit  of  the 


THAT    WHICH    IS    NO    ROBBERY     63 

city ;  intricate,  throbbing,  fraught  with  the  joys  and 
horrors  of  civilization. 

And  Sam  Hill  still  sat  glowering  out  upon  the 
scene. 

"Oh,  the  wonder  of  it!"  said  a  low  voice  at  his 
elbow. 

With  an  effort  Hill  aroused  himself,  the  aching 
trouble  in  his  heart  pulsing  painfully  at  the  return 
to  consciousness  of  his  own  personality.  Had  some 
one  spoken  to  him?  It  was  only  his  fancy,  perhaps! 
Suddenly  something  cool  and  damp  and  unmistak- 
ably alive  thrust  itself  into  the  relaxed  palm  of  his 
hand,  causing  him  to  start  up.  Then  the  cool  thing 
shot  forward,  leaving  his  hand  upon  a  rough  coat  of 
fur.  An  animal!  What  could  it  be? 

"Great  Scott!"  he  exclaimed,  all  alert  In  the 
darkness  beside  him  crouched  a  shapeless  mass, 
which  grunted  softly. 

"It's  only  Mr.  Jones,"  said  the  voice  that  had 
spoken  before.  "He  just  woke  up.  It's  only  my 
bear!" 

Then  Sam  Hill  realized  that  the  creature  at  which 
he  was  staring  in  the  dimness  was  a  small  bear,  to 
which  was  attached  a  chain  that  clanked  upon  the  as- 
phalt walk. 


64  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Mr.  Jones,  is  it?"  snapped  Hill.  "And  who  the 
devil  are  you  ?" 

"I  am  Pedro,"  replied  the  animal's  custodian. 
And  even  in  the  gloom  Hill  could  see  the  white 
gleam  of  a  smile.  The  slender  figure  straightened 
up  on  the  bench  beside  him. 

"What  Pedro?  Pedro  who?"  demanded  Hill,  in- 
terested in  spite  of  himself. 

"Only  just  Pedro,"  came  the  answer.  Then  fol- 
lowed a  laugh — a  wonderful  rippling  laugh,  ending 
abruptly,  as  though  a  door  had  been  closed  upon 
music. 

"Well,  Pedro,  whoever  you  are,"  replied  Hill, 
"you  seem  to  be  in  as  ill  straits  as  myself,  else  you 
would  not  be  sitting  in  the  Square  at  such  an  hour." 

"Are  you  hungry,  too?"  Pedro  inquired. 

Hill  laughed,  a  short  laugh,  not  so  pleasant  to 
hear  as  the  other's. 

"In  a  way,"  said  he. 

"Ah !"  said  Pedro  pityingly,  and  by  the  tone  Hill 
knew  that  the  youth  had  guessed  at  a  hidden  mean- 
ing in  his  words. 

"Why  do  you  come  to  the  city?"  asked  the  latter, 
after  a  pause.  "Your  brotherhood  usually  keep  to 
the  open  road." 


THAT    WHICH    IS    NO    ROBBERY      65 

"I  come  because  I  am  an  artist,  and  here  I  shall 
have  more  opportunity  to  paint,"  replied  Pedro. 

"You  speak  as  though  you  were  a  genius,"  said 
Hill  bitingly. 

"Perhaps  I  am,"  Pedro  returned. 

"Surely  every  one  knows  how  it  feels  to  be  a 
genius,"  remarked  Hill;  "we  all  have  the  potential 
qualities  that  are  necessary.  To  prove  you're  a 
genius  to  some  one  else  is  quite  another  matter.  Can 
you  do  it?" 

"As  to  that,  I  am  quite  indifferent,"  Pedro  re- 
sponded. "I  want  to  paint;  that  is  enough  for  me." 

"Hum!"  said  Sam,  "how  are  you  going  about  it? 
Have  you  friends  here?" 

"Several,  who  came  with  me,"  the  other  answered, 
"but  they  can  not  help  me  to  begin." 

"Too  bad!"  commented  Hill.  "We  all  have  our 
troubles." 

There  was  a  silence,  during  which  Mr.  Jones  fum- 
bled the  hand  of  his  new  acquaintance  affectionately. 
Then  said  Pedro : 

"What  is  your  trouble?" 

Somehow  Hill  was  not  in  the  least  offended  by  the 
question.  For  a  moment  he  considered  it,  then : 

"I  must  go  away  and  hide  myself,"  he  said. 


66  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY. 

"And  you  don't  want  to  go  away  ?" 

"Yes — or  rather,  I  want  to  go,  although  it  is  a 
duty  I  take  a  bitter  pleasure  in  discharging.  But  I 
must  go,  because  I  must  hide." 

"Oh!"  said  Pedro.  "Why  go  off  to  hide ?  A  good 
way  to  get  out  of  sight  is  to  remain  where  you  are, 
and  tell  no  one  about  it.  People  so  promptly  forget 
about  you." 

Hill  peered  at  the  youthful  face  to  see  if  the  bear- 
trainer  was  joking;  but  no  trace  of  mirth  could  he 
discover. 

"Perhaps !"  said  he.  Then  to  change  the  subject, 
"When  did  you  arrive  in  the  city  ?" 

"This  afternoon." 

"And  what,  exactly,  do  you  expect  to  do?" 

"To  find  a  master,  and  to  study ;  to  find  a  studio, 
and  to  paint,"  was  the  terse  reply. 

"And  meanwhile  you  are  hungry !  Are  you  sav- 
ing all  your  money  for  the  ends  you  mention?" 

"I  have  no  money,"  explained  Pedro  cheerfully. 

"Then  how  do  you  plan  to  get  your  studio?" 

"I  do  not  know  yet,"  Pedro  told  him.  "But  there 
must  be  a  great  many  in  so  large  a  city." 

"They  are  filled,  for  the  most  part" 


THAT    WHICH    IS    NO    ROBBERY     67 

"But  by  worse  artists,"  remarked  the  youth,  as 
though  that  solved  everything. 

Hill  laughed — a  better  laugh  this  time. 

"Unfortunately  it  is  not  so  simple  to  be  rid  of 
these  inferior  fellows,"  said  he.  "You  will  have  to 
think  of  some  other  plan  than  ejecting  them,  or  ex- 
pecting them  to  turn  out  on  your  criticism." 

"Perhaps  I  shall  find  a  patron,"  suggested  Pedro 
with  a  vague  gesture. 

"I  would  not  depend  on  that,"  Hill  advised  him. 
"This  is  not  the  Renaissance." 

"No,  it  is  New  York!"  the  youth  flashed  back. 
And  again  Hill  could  not  quite  determine  whether 
he  was  being  laughed  at,  or  doing  the  laughing  him- 
self. 

"So  you  are  not  daunted  by  the  somewhat  uncer- 
tain future  before  you,"  remarked  Hill,  "even 
though  you  are  unfed  ?" 

"I  have  been  that  before,"  retorted  Pedro  dryly. 

"Well,"  said  Hill,  "the  most  immediate  of  our 
troubles  can  be  mended.  I,  too,  am  hungry.  Will 
you  dine  with  me?" 

"We  shall  be  glad  to,"  said  Pedro. 

Hill  had  forgotten  the  bear,  but  when  Pedro  said 


68 

"we,"  he  realized  that  there  were  three  hungry  be- 
ings. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  making  a  rapid  mental  in- 
ventory of  the  restaurants  he  knew.  Hitting  at  last 
on  the  right  one,  he  got  to  his  feet  with  a  jerk. 
"Come  along,  we'll  go  over  to  Galotti's." 

Pedro  obeyed  with  alacrity,  hauling  Mr.  Jones  to 
attention,  and  the  three  of  them  set  off  briskly  in  the 
direction  of  Sixth  Avenue. 

Past  the  dark  houses  they  strode,  house  after  house 
with  curtains  drawn  closely  so  that  no  ray  of  light 
stole  out  to  the  passer-by.  Farther  on,  under  the 
arc-lights,  children  swarmed  over  the  littered  pave- 
ment. Sam  and  his  companions  turned  up-town, 
hugging  the  lighted  fronts  of  the  shops.  Overhead, 
the  railway  thundered,  making  conversation  impos- 
sible. Loungers  stared  after  them  in  momentary 
curiosity  as  they  passed,  and  a  little  crowd  of  chil- 
dren attached  themselves  to  Mr.  Jones.  At  Tenth 
Street  they  turned  eastward  again,  and  coming  to  a 
halt  before  a  low  iron  gateway,  Hill  dispersed  the 
children  with  a  handful  of  coppers. 

The  house  before  which  they  had  paused  was 
an  old-fashioned  brownstone  building,  five  stories 
high,  with  barred  and  shuttered  windows  which 


THAT   WHICH    IS    NO    ROBBERY     69 

gave  no  sign  that  food  and  cheer  might  be  obtained 
within.  Only  against  the  basement  window-blinds, 
drawn  tightly  down,  with  gleaming  cracks  upon 
them,  shadows  moved  swiftly,  abnormal  in  bulk,  as 
though  a  race  of  giants  served  the  guests.  Pushing 
open  the  little  gate,  Hill  made  his  way  down  the 
steps  and  through  the  accumulation  of  ash-cans  and 
wooden  crates  that  littered  the  area-way,  Pedro 
and  the  bear  following.  Then  all  three  waited  in  the 
cavernous  gloom  of  an  archway  under  the  front- 
door steps,  at  what  was  apparently  the  tradesman's 
entrance.  After  a  moment  a  dark  shape  appeared 
upon  the  ground  glass  of  the  door,  and  Signorina 
Galotti  opened  to  them :  a  plump  little  woman  with 
a  scarlet  apron,  and  heavy  gold  rings  in  her  ears. 

"Santa  Maria !"  she  gasped,  at  sight  of  the  com- 
pany in  which  Hill  presented  himself,  "what  now?" 

"This  is  Pedro,"  said  Hill,  "and  his  bear,  Mr. 
Jones."  Then  turning  to  Pedro,  he  remarked  that  an 
introduction  by  a  habitue  was  necessary  before  the 
signorina  would  admit  a  new  patron  to  the  joys  of 
her  abundant  table.  Then  he  entered,  motioning 
them  to  do  likewise. 

"But  the  bear?"  objected  the  hostess. 

"It  is  less  a  bear  than  many  of  your  friends  here," 


70  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

said  Hill,  waving  a  hand  toward  the;  inner  room. 
The  witticism  was  lost  upon  Signorina  Galotti,  being 
far  beyond  the  boundaries  of  her  English. 

"But  I  can  not,  even  for  the  signor,"  she  began. 

Then  Pedro  smiled  at  her,  and  without  warning, 
sailed  into  a  sea  of  voluble  Italian  which  Hill  found 
it  impossible  to  follow.  Not  so  the  restaurateurs. 
She  beamed  upon  him  before  he  had  half  finished, 
and  without  further  difficulties,  they  were  admitted. 

"What  a  smile !  Che  bel  dentin'!"  she  purred. 

From  the  front  basement  room  several  guests 
craned  inquiring  heads,  only  to  withdraw  indiffer- 
ently after  a  glance.  Anything  might  happen  at  Ga- 
lotti's,  and  a  well-behaved  bear  which  showed  no  in- 
dication of  performing,  was,  therefore,  of  only  the 
slightest  interest.  But  it  was  not  into  this  first 
room  that  Hill  went.  Down  a  narrow  corridor  they 
groped  and  thence  into  a  kitchen  full  of  activity  and 
color,  picturesquely  disordered,  not  to  say  untidy. 
Three  waiters  in  decrepit  evening-dress  clothes, 
bustled  in  and  out  from  the  room  beyond,  to  which 
the  kitchen  was  the  only  passage.  On  the  whole,  it 
was  a  reassuring  atmosphere.  However  things  may 
be  cooked  at  Galotti's,  they  always  taste  divinely. 

Passing  through  this   place,  they  emerged   into 


THAT   WHICH    IS    NO    ROBBERY      71 

what  had  once  been  the  back  yard,  the  brick  fence 
of  which  had  since  been  carried  up  to  the  height  of 
the  second  story,  and  roofed  in  with  glass.  Around 
all  four  sides  ran  a  wooden  balcony  with  tables  upon 
it,  and  to  this  a  narrow  staircase  gave  access.  On  the 
ledge  were  plants  in  pots  and  boxes,  and  between 
them,  at  one  corner,  reposed  a  huge  yellow  cat  with 
a  short  tail,  asleep  amid  all  the  clatter  and  talk.  Be- 
low were  more  little  tables,  so  close  together  that  it 
was  hard  to  avoid  jostling  your  neighbor's  elbow.  In 
the  corner  of  this  strange  room  grew  large  trees 
whose  tops  vanished  through  the  roof,  which  in  sum- 
mer could  be  removed,  leaving  only  their  feathery 
branches  to  protect  the  diners  below. 

All  along  both  sides  of  the  apartment  were  inden- 
tures, where  once  the  windows  of  the  houses  next  had 
looked  into  this  one-time  garden.  These  spaces  were 
now  filled  by  paintings,  obviously  contributed  by  the 
habitues,  in  some  cases,  perhaps,  in  lieu  of  payment 
for  a  score.  From  one  a  life-sized  horse  gazed  in 
upon  the  assembled  company;  through  another  a 
young  lady  could  be  descried  struggling  with  Sig- 
norina  Galotti's  famous  spaghetti,  and  so  on,  accord- 
ing to  the  fancy  of  the  decorator.  The  upper  walls 
had  drawings  on  them,  too,  some  executed  directly 


72  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

upon  the  brick;  and  even  the  posts  supporting  the 
balcony  boasted  pencil  drawings  and  sketches  in  col- 
ored chalk. 

The  company  was  large  and  varied:  respectable 
Italian  bourgeois  of  the  neighborhood,  voluble  and 
greedy,  artists,  music  students  from  the  neighboring 
institute,  lonely  men  in  search  of  amusement,  two 
prim  maiden  ladies  on  an  intellectual  spree,  pro- 
fessional models,  and  socialists  out  of  employment. 
Hill  selected  a  table  in  a  corner,  and  after  persuad- 
ing Mr.  Jones  to  lie  down  beneath  it,  they  seated 
themselves.  No  need  to  order  here.  There  is  what 
there  is,  and  the  waiter  brings  it  to  you.  In  a  few 
moments  a  generous  bowl  of  soup  was  put  before 
them,  and  the  long  crisp  loaf  had  been  given  to  the 
bear,  to  keep  him  occupied.  With  a  sigh  at  the 
thought  of  Old  Nita,  and  the  others  who  were  doubt- 
less hungry  also,  Pedro  fell  to. 

"So  you  are  an  Italian?"  remarked  Hill  by  way 
of  renewing  conversation. 

"No,"  replied  Pedro,  adding  nothing  to  the  infor- 
mation. 

"But  you  speak  it,  I  observe,"  said  Hill. 

"Yes,"  said  Pedro,  eating  busily. 

"But  you  are  surely  a  foreigner?" 


THAT    WHICH    IS    NO    ROBBERY      73 

Pedro  waved  his  spoon  vaguely. 

"I  am  an  everywhere"  he  explained. 

"Oh !"  said  Hill,  "a  cosmopolitan,  I  see!" 

They  ate  the  entire  menu  with  very  little  conver- 
sation. Tomato  with  garlic;  potage,  slab  of  unrecog- 
nizable fish,  mysterious  entree,  the  leg  of  a  chicken, 
lettuce  vinegette,  tiny  lobster,  pink  spaghetti,  an  in- 
finitesimal lozenge  of  ice-cream,  ancient  Camembert, 
and  thick  coffee  in  heavy  cups;  dubious  fruit,  and 
sour  wine  of  Sicily  [California]  to  wash  it  down 
withal.  Then  they  pushed  back  their  chairs  a  little, 
and  talked.  Hill  tossed  a  package  of  cigarettes  upon 
the  table,  lighting  one  himself.  Pedro  followed  suit, 
inhaling  the  fumes  with  a  long  sigh  of  contentment 

"You  are  fond  of  that  bear?"  asked  Hill. 

"I  am,"  replied  Pedro.  "He  is  my  good  friend; 
he  is  the  thing  I  love  most  of  all." 

"How  did  you  come  to  give  him  his  name?" 

"Mr.  Jones?"  said  the  boy.  "Oh!  that  is  not  his 
real  name.  His  real  name  is  Michael-Angelo-Goya- 
Rodin-Rembrandt.  I  only  call  him  Mr.  Jones  for 
short." 

Hill  laughed. 

"Tell  me  of  your  wanderings  with  him/'  he  asked. 

And  Pedro  told  him.    The  elder  man  sat  very  still 


74  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

as  he  listened,  his  chair  tilted  back  against  the  brick 
wall,  his  eyes  narrowed  to  mere  slits  of  light  as  he 
watched  the  young  raconteur  through  the  blue  haze 
of  smoke.  What  tales  these  were  to  which  he  lis- 
tened ;  how  they  stirred  the  wanderlust  in  him.  Their 
possibilities  how  many,  their  adventures  how  varied ! 
Simply  told,  and  without  affectation,  they  were  yet 
replete  with  dramatic  interest,  full  of  color,  of  sug- 
gestion. This  boy  had  a  marvelous  personality.  He 
made  you  see  things  without  describing  them  to  you. 
A  look,  a  gesture,  did  it.  Dreamily  Sam  listened, 
yet  intently.  Those  companions  of  whom  the  boy 
spoke,  what  of  them  ?  Again  he  listened,  having  put 
the  question,  and  again  his  interest  responded  imme- 
diately. And  all  the  time  his  first  favorable  impres- 
sion of  Pedro  grew  in  strength,  and  was  the  more 
solidly  confirmed. 

The  ingenuousness  of  the  youth,  the  simplicity, 
the  wit,  the  direct  decent  look  of  him,  the  under- 
standing that  he  displayed,  were  remarkable. 
Then,  too,  his  honesty  seemed  obvious.  Further- 
more, he  was  unquestionably  without  the  desire  to 
impress  Hill,  or  to  befool  him.  Of  himself  and  his 
origin  the  boy  said  little  or  nothing,  but  even  this 
failed  to  trouble  his  listener.  More  and  more  he 


THAT    WHICH    IS    NO    ROBBERY      75 

liked  this  youth  whom  chance  had  thrown  his  way  at 
such  an  unwelcome  moment,  and  as  he  watched  the 
eager  young  face,  animated  by  talking  of  the  things 
he  loved,  Hill  felt  that  here  was  one  of  the  excep- 
tional people  who  bring  into  contact  with  their  fel- 
low creatures  the  selves  that  they  really  are,  un- 
shielded by  a  mask  of  pretense,  because  unafraid  and 
unashamed  of  their  own  hearts. 

Then,  too,  the  fascination  of  the  ancient  and  hon- 
orable profession  of  bear-dancing  had  taken  hold 
on  Hill.  But  though  he  listened  well,  every  little 
while  came  the  thought  of  his  lost  love,  and  with  it, 
a  wave  of  depression  swept  over  him.  With  a  des- 
perate effort  to  pull  away  from  it,  he  asked  another 
question. 

"Where  are  your  companions?" 

"Very  near  the  public  garden  from  which  we  have 
just  come,"  responded  Pedro.  "Down  the  little  cob- 
bly  street  to  where  the  air-railway  turns;  then  in  a 
little  door,  through  a  court,  to  an  old  house  with 
wooden  balconies.  They  await  me  there." 

"How  fitting!"  murmured  Hill.  "How  I  should 
like  to  see  them !  Would  they  receive  me  well?" 

"Without  a  doubt,"  said  Pedro;  "they  recognize  a 
friend  at  once,  even  as  a  dog  or  a  bear  does !" 


76  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"I've  a  mind  to  go  back  with  you,"  said  Hill  jok- 
ingly. "They  must  be  corkers.  That  Old  Nita,  now 
— what  does  she  look  like  ?" 

"She — why  she  looks — she  looks  like  Time  him- 
self," responded  the  boy.  "See,  I  will  show  you." 

Saying  which,  he  brought  out  a  stump  of  a  pen- 
cil and  a  small  pad  from  some  recess  of  his  old  coat 
of  green. 

"This  is  Nita,"  said  he,  turning  over  several  pages, 
and  handing  the  open  book  to  Hill.  "Old  Nita,  and 
that  next  is  Beau-Jean,  scolding  Koko." 

Hill  took  the  proffered  papers  idly;  gave  one 
glance  at  them,  whistled  a  little,  and  suddenly  sat 
very  erect,  examining  them  intently. 

"Who  drew  these?"  he  inquired  after  a  moment. 

"Why,  me,  of  course,"  said  Pedro. 

For  another  little  space  Hill  was  silent,  turning 
over  the  sheets  in  his  hand.  There  were  perhaps 
twenty  sketches  in  the  pad.  From  his  scrutiny  of 
them,  he  raised  his  eyes  to  Pedro.  Could  the  boy  be 
telling  the  truth?  Had  he  actually  drawn  these 
things?  They  were  remarkable.  Surely,  such  a  one 
as  had  done  them  would  be  famous,  for  work  like  this 
was  not  to  be  hid  easily.  Indeed,  it  was  amazingly 
good.  It  was  the  work  of  a  born  draftsman.  But 


THAT   WHICH    IS    NO    ROBBERY:     77 

Pedro's  face  showed  no  signs  of  uneasiness.  On  the 
contrary,  his  eyes  were  alight  as  he  explained  who 
the  people  were. 

"That  is  Rico  and  Anna,  who  are  kissing,"  said 
he.  "Has  she  not  a  beautiful  long  thigh?  And  the 
way  her  back  bends — so!  The  fine  old  gentleman  is 
a  farmer,  though  he  looks  so  like  a  Jewish  patriarch. 
See,  Nita  dancing  the  'coquette.'  Ha!  ha!  here  is 
another  pose  of  that!  And  if  you  will  turn  that 
sheet,  you  will  see  a  whole  page  of  Mr.  Jones." 

"It's— It's— Gee!"  said  Hill. 

"Do  you  like  my  drawings?"  asked  Pedro,  sud- 
denly self-conscious,  a  deep  flush  spreading  over  his 
face  and  neck. 

"Like  them !"  was  all  Hill  replied,  but  at  the  tone 
of  his  voice  Pedro's  eyes  sparkled. 

"When  did  you  do  all  this?"  Hill  added. 

Pedro  told  him.  Again  there  came  to  Hill  a  vis- 
ion of  that  wonderful  irresponsible  life,  and  again 
the  overwhelming  sense  of  his  loss  of  Iris. 

"You  see,  I  can  do  them  very  quickly,"  Pedro  was 
saying.  And  indeed,  while  he  had  been  speaking, 
the  profile  of  the  man  at  the  next  table  had  appeared 
upon  the  pad,  a  masterly  piece  of  drawing  in  which 
the  subject's  most  salient  characteristics  seemed  to 


78  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

have  been  caught.  "I  love  to  draw  people,  and  lots 
of  people  together,  and  places.  And  I  love  to  draw 
Mr.  Jones." 

"Who  taught  you?"  asked  Hill. 

"Long  ago,  when  I  was  small,  some  one  taught  me 
every  day,"  said  Pedro.  "Then  I  have  painted  a 
little  here,  and  a  little  there.  Once  at  Barbizon, 
Rodin,  the  great  one,  was  there  in  the  woods,  idling, 
and  although  it  was  of  modeling  he  talked,  he  taught 
me  infinitely  much." 

"How  did  you  come  to  know  him?" 

"I  spoke  to  him." 

"Ah!" 

"But  I  have  yet  so  much,  so  much,  to  learn !  That 
is  why  I  came  here  to  find  a  studio,  that  I  might 
really  learn." 

Privately,  Hill  was  convinced  that  what  Pedro 
needed  was  the  opportunity.  That  was  all.  It  was 
remarkable,  but  true.  Suddenly  he  leaned  across  the 
little  table. 

"I  suppose  you  love  that  bear  tremendously?"  he 
asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Pedro,  instantly  aware  of  an  impend- 
ing development. 

"More  than  your  art?" 


THAT    WHICH    IS    NO    ROBBERY      79 

Pedro  laughed.     Then  he  sobered. 

"No,"  he  said,  "of  course  not.  I  suppose  I  would 
even  give  him  up  if  need  be — and  yet  he  is  like  my 
own  brother." 

The  boy's  eyes  were  bright  with  excitement,  and 
the  warm  color  had  crept  into  his  face  as  he  spoke. 
Across  the  mouth  of  the  man  opposite  to  him  was  the 
stamp  of  a  new-born  decision. 

"Then  give  him  up !"  cried  Hill.  "I  am  a  painter. 
Give  him  to  me  in  exchange  for  my  studio  and  all 
that  is  in  it!" 


CHAPTER  V 

TWO  MEETINGS 

NEXT  morning,  Pedro  awoke  with  a  sense  of 
strangeness  upon  him,  and  instinctively 
stretched  out  his  hand  to  touch  Mr.  Jones,  who  al- 
ways slept  beside  him.  But  the  bear  was  missing. 
Instead  of  a  rough  warm  coat  that  heaved  sleepily 
beneath  his  hand,  he  touched  a  coverlet  soft  as  silk. 
At  this,  his  sense  of  uneasiness  increased,  and  with 
an  effort  he  opened  his  eyes  and  sat  up.  Ah,  yes! 
He  remembered  now.  Mr.  Jones  was  gone.  Gone 
with  the  sanction  of  his  master,  gone  perhaps  never 
to  return !  One  by  one  the  events  of  the  preceding 
evening  came  back  to  his  mind.  His  hesitancy,  Hill's 
arguing  with  him,  the  details  of  their  compact,  and 
his  final  agreement  to  the  extraordinary  proposal. 
Ah,  yes !  and  Hill's  writing  of  the  two  letters,  one  of 
which  gave  him,  Pedro,  possession  of  the  apartment 
in  which  he  now  found  himself.  The  other  to  a 
friend  of  Hill's,  to  be  delivered  on  the  morrow — • 
that  was  to-day — to-day. 

80 


TWO    MEETINGS  81 

Still  more  clearly  the  events  of  the  night  just 
past  crept  into  his  memory.  He  recollected  his 
own  inability  to  realize  the  magical  good  fortune 
that  had  befallen  him,  his  dazed  acceptance,  his 
vague  wondering  if  it  were  really  possible  to  carry 
out  such  a  plan !  All  had  appeared  unreal,  until  it 
came  to  parting  with  his  bear,  when  he  had  almost 
wept.  He  recalled  now  his  introduction  of  Hill 
(who  had  decided  to  begin  his  new  life  instanter) 
to  the  other  bear-dancers,  and  his  own  explanation 
to  them  of  what  was  to  happen.  Their  cries  of  pro- 
test and  congratulation  still  rang  in  his  ears.  He  re- 
membered pleading  that  Hill  be  kind  to  Old  Nita 
when  she  was  penitent,  and  firm  with  her  when  she 
drank.  Poor  Old  Nita !  She  would  still  have  some 
one  to  lean  on ;  he  was  glad  of  that ! 

He  remembered  his  lonely  entrance  into  the  studio, 
too,  awestricken  by  its  height  and  luminous  dark- 
ness. How  he  had  entered,  clutching  the  money 
that  Hill  had  loaned  him,  a  twenty-dollar  bill, 
crumpled  tightly ! 

Slowly  he  let  his  gaze  travel  about  the  comforta- 
ble little  bedroom  in  which  he  lay.  Its  furnishings 
were  simple  in  the  extreme,  yet  adequate.  Opposite 
him  stood  a  chest  of  drawers,  mahogany,  and  old. 


82  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

There  were  brushes  on  it  and  a  few  simple  ebony 
toilet  necessities.  On  a  rack  above  it  hung  several 
neckties  in  quiet  silks,  all  good  and  new.  Higher 
still  swung  a  small  three-sided  mirror  for  shaving, 
and  for  some  reason  Pedro  smiled  as  he  looked  at  it. 
An  ample  closet  occupied  one  end  of  the  room,  and 
beside  the  bed-head  was  a  little  table  with  an  electric 
reading  lamp  and  several  books  upon  it, — Whitman, 
R.  L.  S.,  Gautier,  a  catholic  assortment.  Through 
the  single  window,  opening  out  to  the  leads,  the  sun 
was  shining  merrily.  At  the  foot  of  the  bed  was  a 
door,  half  closed.  The  studio  was  in  there!  At  the 
thought  he  sprang  up  and  flung  the  door  wide  to 
discover  if  his  memory  of  the  night  was  a  vision  or  a 
reality. 

As  he  stood  upon  the  threshold  he  seemed  for  an 
instant  to  see,  not  the  room  before  him,  but  the  up- 
right, fashionably  clad  figure  of  Hill,  leading  a  bear 
off  into  the  dark  regions  beyond  Washington  Square. 
Then  throwing  back  his  head,  he  laughed,  and 
stepped  into  the  studio. 

Once  it  had  been  the  attic  covering  the  upper 
floors  of  two  adjoining  houses.  In  every  sense  the 
place  was  a  workshop,  replete  with  the  most  perfect 
tools  for  the  trade  of  the  brush,  and  the  only  spot 


TWO    MEETINGS  83 

conducive  to  idling  was  the  chimney  corner.  Upon 
the  smaller  easel  stood  the  half-finished  portrait  of 
a  man,  while  against  one  wall  a  pile  of  canvases  was 
standing,  their  faces  hidden. 

Pedro  drew  a  long  breath  of  delight.  Then  it  was 
true ;  it  had  not  been  a  dream,  after  all !  He  thought 
of  Mr.  Jones  again,  and  for  a  moment  the  pang  of 
that  dear  remembrance  was  bitter.  How  was  Hill 
getting  on  with  Old  Nita?  he  wondered.  If  only 
it  were  possible  to  be  with  them,  and  here  at  the 
same  time !  Ah,  well !  one  could  not  serve  two  mas- 
ters, and  he  had  chosen  and  did  not  regret. 

On  the  mantel-shelf  stood  a  letter  that  Pedro 
had  placed  there  on  the  previous  evening.  Hill  had 
given  it  to  him  with  the  injunction  to  deliver  it  at  the 
earliest  possible  moment.  He  read  the  superscrip- 
tion with  interest : 

Abraham  Lincoln  Leigh. 

An  address  on  Tenth  Street  followed.  Pedro  de- 
termined to  deliver  it  at  once,  and,  accordingly,  has- 
tened with  his  dressing.  But  the  sense  of  possession 
was  too  much  for  him.  Once,  flinging  his  arms  wide, 
he  made  as  if  to  embrace  the  great  bare  chamber 
and  its  contents;  and  then,  as  suddenly,  sank  down 


84 

upon  the  model  throne  and  burst  into  sobs,  great 
strangling  sobs  that  shook  his  entire  frame.  For 
several  moments  he  lay  so,  and  when  at  last  he  raised 
himself,  he  was  smiling  through  his  tears. 

"Dios!"  he  said  aloud.  "Such  happiness!  Ah! 
such  happiness." 

He  took  up  his  sketching-pad  and  slipped  it  into 
his  pocket.  Again  he  tried  to  leave,  and  this  time  a 
bit  of  color,  yellow,  vivid,  magnetic,  called  him  back. 
He  crossed  to  where  it  lay  upon  a  palette  and  care- 
fully closed  the  tube.  A  little  got  upon  his  hand, 
and  in  turn  upon  the  letter  that  he  held,  making  a 
tiny  yellow  sun  around  which  spread  an  aura  of  oil. 

"I  must  go,"  said  Pedro. 

But  still  he  lingered.  The  light  was  all  wrong. 
If  one  were  working  on  that  portrait  now,  it  would 
have  to  be  changed !  Not  until  he  had  adjusted  each 
of  the  shades  to  suit  his  fancy,  did  he  finally  leave, 
reluctantly,  dragged  away  only  by  the  letter' in  his 
hand.  Even  at  the  door  he  turned  for  one  last  look. 
Then  he  latched  it  after  him  and  ran  down-stairs. 

It  was  still  very  early  as  New  York  reckons  time, 
being  not  quite  eight  o'clock.  To  Pedro  this  seemed 
late  to  be  starting  on  any  errand,  and  he  was  sur- 
prised at  the  comparative  quiet  into  which  he 


TWO    MEETINGS  85 

emerged.  The  house,  or  rather  houses,  in  which 
Hill's  studio  was  situated,  were  the  last  two  of  what 
had  once  been  a  terrace  of  considerable  pretensions, 
and  they  ran  bias  to  the  streets  that  had  demol- 
ished all  the  others  like  them.  Consequently,  these 
decaying  aristocrats  of  buildings  did  not  stand  upon 
any  avenue  or  street,  but  upon  a  queer  little  tri- 
angular court  of  their  own,  shut  in  at  the  front  by 
Sixth  Avenue,  and  bounded  on  either  side  by  Eighth 
and  Ninth  Streets.  At  the  rear  loomed  one  of  the 
city  prisons,  terra-cotta,  ungainly,  ugly  as  the  sins 
that  necessitated  its  existence.  The  little  court  thus 
formed  was  paved  with  flagging,  and  within  it  the 
two  old  houses  huddled  in  dignified,  rather  sad  se- 
clusion. 

In  the  courtyard  Pedro  paused  again  to  gaze  up 
the  mellow  brick  fronts  where  his  skylight  glittered 
in  the  sun.  The  floors  below  were  occupied  by  apart- 
ments of  a  makeshift  sort,  and  of  these  most  had  the 
windows  closed  and  the  blinds  drawn.  On  the  floor 
next  the  top,  however,  one  was  flung  wide,  and  the 
befrilled  muslin  curtains  that  guarded  it  bellied 
in  the  breeze.  There  was  a  little  bunch  of  violets 
upon  this  window's  sill,  and  each  advance  of  the  sail- 
like  muslin  seemed  to  threaten  them  with  precipita- 


86  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

tion  on  to  the  stones  below.  A  charming  place,  truly, 
and  all  about  it  hung  an  atmosphere  hard  to  de- 
scribe, keen  to  feel  as  the  things  that  happened 
there ;  and  more — infinitely  more — might  happen ! 
The  very  tilt  of  the  leads,  a  little  aslant  and  rakish, 
was  suggestive,  different,  peculiar  to  the  place.  But 
delightful  as  it  all  was,  the  winking,  flashing,  north- 
ern skylight  that  topped  it,  held  the  lad  most 
strongly.  He  gazed  up  at  it  wraptly,  and  then,  once 
more  his  emotional  nature  got  the  best  of  him. 

"/  love  you!"  he  cried  to  the  studio  window,  and 
he  threw  it  a  kiss. 

There  was  a  laugh — a  silvery  laugh — the  laugh  of 
a  young  woman,  of  a  girl  pleased  by  a  gallantry— 
and  it  rang  out  from  behind  the  billowing  white  cur- 
tains. For  an  instant  Pedro  stood  transfixed,  while  a 
golden  head  was  thrust  out  quickly,  and  as  quickly 
withdrawn.  Then  a  bare  white  arm  flashed  between 
the  ruffles,  and  the  violets  flew  to  his  feet.  Picking 
the  flowers  up,  he  swept  off  his  old  felt  hat  in  that 
magnificent  bow  of  his,  and  looked  up  again,  but 
there  was  nothing  further  to  be  seen,  and  the  win- 
dow had  been  shut  against  the  chill  wine  of  the 
morning  air.  Holding  the  little  purple  blossoms 
against  his  heart,  Pedro  turned  away,  and  passing 


TWO    MEETINGS  87 

beneath  the  old  brick  arch  with  its  bracket-lantern 
and  its  sign,  Muldoon  Place,  went  out  into  the 
awakening  city. 

The  house  in  which  Abraham  Lincoln  Leigh  lived, 
was,  like  almost  every  other  building  in  this  neigh- 
borhood, now  being  put  to  a  use  other  than  that  for 
which  it  was  originally  intended,  for  once  it  had 
been  a  warehouse  for  the  storage  of  paper. 

"Yep!"  said  the  hall-boy,  in  response  to  Pedro's 
inquiry  as  to  whether  Mr.  Leigh  was  in.  "Third  to 
your  right.  Last  door !" 

So  Pedro  mounted  and  knocked. 

"Come !"  said  a  resonant  voice,  which  was  like  the 
booming  of  a  great  bell.  And  Pedro,  rejoicing  at 
the  music  of  it,  promptly  obeyed. 

It  was  a  large  studio  which  he  entered,  large  and 
crowded  and  disordered  beyond  belief.  Several  cor- 
ners had  been  screened  off  for  uses  other  than  those 
of  sculpture,  which  was  the  self-evident  occupation 
of  the  proprietor.  The  walls  were  crowded  with 
casts,  the  room  was  filled  with  figures,  and  the  damp 
odor  of  plasterline  was  in  the  air.  Upon  a  sea-chest 
against  the  far  wall  books  were  stacked,  and  books 
lay  about  everywhere,  most  of  them  stained  and 


88  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

worn,  as  though  handled  by  the  fingers  of  toil.  From 
behind  one  screened  corner  peered  a  crockery-laden 
shelf,  while  another  screen  partially  concealed  a 
shower-bath.  At  the  end  of  the  room,  a  door  stood 
ajar,  and  the  foot  of  a  rumpled  bed,  which  nearly 
filled  the  tiny  chamber,  could  be  seen.  One  instantly 
felt  that  the  prime  reason  for  this  admixture  of  liv- 
ing and  working  was  that  the  two  were  so  intersected 
in  the  mind  of  the  sculptor  that  he  would  have  found 
their  separation  impossible;  and  this  idea  was  con- 
firmed by  the  appearance  of  the  man  himself. 

At  the  moment  of  Pedro's  entrance,  Abraham 
Lincoln  Leigh  was  stooping  over  a  frying-pan  full 
of  bacon,  which  was  sizzling  on  the  stove;  and  the 
instantaneous  impression  which  his  visitor  received 
was  that  the  man's  name  had  in  some  curious  fashion 
influenced  his  personal  appearance.  He  was  very 
tall,  and  his  leanness  was  extraordinary.  From  eye 
to  chin  deep  lines  swept  down  the  forceful  jaw,  and 
his  overhanging  brow  and  rather  prominent  nose 
were  rugged  in  outline.  His  eyes,  deep-set,  were 
misty,  but  lit  up  when  he  spoke  as  though  a  veil  had 
suddenly  been  drawn  from  before  them.  It  would 
have  been  extremely  difficult  to  determine  his  exact 
age,  though  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  in  the  neigh- 


TWO    MEETINGS  89 

borhood  of  thirty-five.  He  was  clean-shaven,  and 
his  shock  of  dark  hair  was  in  disorder.  He  was  clad 
in  a  linen  blouse,  and  an  ancient  pair  of  khaki  trou- 
sers. Taken  all  in  all,  he  was  a  man  whose  silent  and 
retiring  manner  led  people  either  to  expect  much  of 
him  or  fail  to  notice  him,  according  to  the  cast  of 
their  own  natures;  while  Leigh  himself  let  both  pass 
by,  without  comment,  if  not  without  thought.  All 
his  movements  were  leisurely,  and  he  took  his  time 
about  speech.  As  Pedro  entered,  he  did  not  even 
turn  his  head  for  a  moment,  but  continued  manipu- 
lating the  bacon  deliberately.  When  it  was  reversed, 
he  looked  up  at  his  visitor,  and  again  the  mellow 
voice  rang  out  like  the  slow  chimes  of  a  church-bell. 

"Who  are  you?" 

"I  am  Pedro,"  said  the  owner  of  that  name,  flash- 
ing his  white  smile.  "I  have  a  letter  from  Sam  Hill." 

"Ah !"  remarked  Leigh,  not,  however,  offering  to 
take  the  missive,  but  looking  at  the  bearer,  and,  as 
was  so  commonly  the  case,  liking  him.  Then,  in  re- 
sponse to  that  smile  of  Pedro's,  Leigh  smiled,  a  rare 
thing  in  him,  and  an  illuminating. 

"Have  you  had  your  breakfast?"  he  asked. 

"Why,  no !  I  haven't !"  exclaimed  the  boy,  evident- 
ly surprised  at  the  recollection  of  his  lack. 


90  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

Leigh  looked  him  over  again,  his  face  grave  de- 
spite the  gathering  up  of  the  little  lines  at  the  cor- 
ners of  his  eyes. 

"You're  a  friend  of  Sam's?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  his  most  devoted  one!"  exclaimed  Pedro 
fervently. 

Again  Leigh  smiled. 

"No,  you  are  not,"  he  said.  "However,  the  forks 
and  spoons  are  in  that  bureau,  and  you'll  find  a  cup 
on  the  shelf  behind  that  screen." 

Pedro  stared  at  him  for  a  breath,  and  then,  with  a 
laugh  he  threw  his  hat  and  his  letter  down  upon  a 
chair,  and  went  in  search  of  the  articles  mentioned. 

"Gracias!"  he  said,  "I  am  very  hungry.  Maybe 
you  know  what  that  feels  like,  eh?" 

"You  bet !"  said  Leigh  solemnly. 

With  alacrity  Pedro  gathered  up  the  implements 
wherewith  to  serve  himself,  and  returned  from  the 
corner;  shelf  with  one  hand  grasping  a  bristly  bou- 
quet of  cutlery  and  the  other  balancing  some  dishes. 
Pausing  before  a  sketch  in  plasterline,  he  looked  at 
it  critically,  cocking  his  head  to  one  side,  and  half- 
closing  his  eyes. 

"You  ought  to  push  the  hind  quarters  of  the  tiger 


TWO    MEETINGS  91 

back  of  the  woman,  so!"  said  he,  giving  an  illustra- 
tive twist  of  the  hand  which  nearly  sent  the  cup  fly- 
ing. "It  doesn't  quite  look — look  solid,  you  know." 

Leigh  brought  the  frying-pan  over  when  he  came 
to  inspect.  He  crouched  for  a  moment  before  his 
model.  Then  he  turned  to  Pedro. 

"I  believe  you  are  right,"  he  said.  "In  here  is 
where  you  mean,  of  course.  Are  you  a  sculptor?" 

"Painter,"  said  Pedro,  "at  least,  I  am  going  to 
be." 

A  gleam  of  amusement  crept  into  those  strange 
eyes  of  Leigh. 

"Going  to  be !"  he  quoted.  "Ah !  I  see !  The  nov- 
ice is  always  the  severest  critic." 

"But  I  am  right  about  it,"  persisted  the  boy,  not  in 
the  least  abashed  at  being  made  fun  of. 

"I  did  not  say  you  were  wrong,"  remarked  Leigh. 
"Come  and  eat.  You  are  in  no  need  of  championing 
your  views." 

Still  on  the  alert  to  defend  his  inexperience,  Pedro 
obeyed,  and  drew  a  chair  up  to  a  partially  cleared 
table,  the  opposite  end  of  which  was  cluttered  with  a 
catalogue  full  of  small  objects,  all  of  which  had  to 
do  with  the  host's  work.  Leigh  followed  suit,  plac- 


92  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

ing  the  frying-pan  full  of  bacon  atop  a  heap  of  ana- 
tomical drawings. 

There  was  coffee,  and  half  a  bottle  of  milk; 
also  crisp  French  rolls  from  the  baker  around  the 
corner.  While  Pedro  ate,  one  eye  on  the  food,  the 
other  on  the  work,  finished,  half -finished,  or  just  be- 
gun, which  occupied  the  main  portion  of  the  studio, 
Leigh  perused  Hill's  letter  between  gulps  of  coffee. 
Its  substance  was  merely  that  Hill  was  going  away, 
possibly  for  a  year,  and  confirmed  Pedro's  possession 
of  the  studio  with  the  fewest  possible  explanations. 
When  Leigh  finished  reading  it,  he  attacked  the 
bacon  and  addressed  his  guest. 

"Tell  me,"  he  began.  "What's  all  this  about?  Did 
you  really  never  see  Hill  before  last  night?" 

"Never,"  said  Pedro. 

"And  what  reason  did  he  give  for  this  unexpected 
desire  to  leave  town  ?" 

"That  he  wanted  to  go!"  said  Pedro  with  rising 
inflection,  as  if  surprised  that  any  other  reason  were 
necessary. 

"Hum!"  mused  Leigh,  thinking  instantly  of  Iris. 
"I  believe  I  can  give  a  guess,  then." 

"He  took  my  bear;  I  took  his  studio.  A  very  good 
arrangement,  eh?"  asked  Pedro. 


TWO    MEETINGS  93 

"For  you,  certainly,"  said  Leigh. 

"Ah!  but  you  should  see  my  bear!"  responded 
Pedro  earnestly. 

The  lad  was  so  sincere  that  Leigh  smiled  again. 

"From  something  in  Sam's  letter,"  said  he,  "I  am 
pretty  sure  that  I  am  right  about  why  he  has  gone. 
He  says  I  am  to  look  after  you.  Are  you  going  to 
need  much  looking  after?" 

"Every  one  does,"  said  the  lad,  suddenly  serious. 
"Every  one  needs  looking  after,  because  every  one 
is  young — always!  And  every  one  is  alone — al- 
ways !  But,"  he  added  with  a  laugh,  "you  may  de- 
pend upon  my  troubling  you  only  as  much  as  you 
trouble  me;  a  friendship,  is  it  not?  Giving  and  tak- 
ing trouble,  eh?" 

Leigh  did  not  answer,  but  as  he  drew  out  his  pipe 
and  filled  it  deliberately,  he  never  took  his  eyes  from 
his  visitor.  Something  in  the  boy's  personality  ar- 
rested him,  and  as  he  could  not  quite  define  the  in- 
terest which  it  aroused,  he  pondered  it  well.  What 
charm  the  lad  possessed !  Like  many  another,  Leigh 
succumbed  to  it  without  further  demur. 

"And  what,"  he  asked  at  length,  "do  you  wish  me 
to  do  for  you  as  a  starter?  Take  you  up  to  the  art 
school?" 


94  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Academy!   No!"  exclaimed  Pedro. 

"What  do  you  intend  doing,  then  ?" 

"Paint,"  said  Pedro. 

"Anything  else?" 

"Find  some  one  whose  criticism  I  can  respect!" 

"Ah!"  said  Leigh,  "and  who  will  that  be?" 

"I  have  not  yet  decided,"  said  the  boy  thought- 
fully. "I  shall  have  to  see  the  work  of  all  the  best 
men  first." 

"And  when  do  you  go  to  work?" 

"Now !"  replied  Pedro.  "I  must  go.  There  is  not 
a  moment  to  be  lost !" 

He  arose  and  stood  looking  as  though  alarmed  at 
the  flight  of  so  many  precious  moments. 

"But  later?"  asked  Leigh. 

"When  it  is  dark,  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Pedro, 
responding  to  the  unspoken  invitation. 

"I  shall  come  around  for  you  at  about  six-thirty," 
said  Leigh.  "We  must  get  to  know  each  other  bet- 
ter." 

Hat  in  hand,  Pedro  turned  to  flash  an  assenting 
smile  at  Leigh  before  he  went  out 

When  the  door  had  closed  upon  him,  the  sculptor 
stood  in  deep  thought  for  several  moments.  Then 
absent-mindedly  knocking  the  contents  of  his  unlit 


TWO    MEETINGS  95 

pipe  out  upon  the  hearth,  he  put  it  in  his  mouth,  up- 
side down,  and  lounged  over  to  the  plasterline  sketch 
that  Pedro  had  criticized.  For  some  time  he 
looked  at  it  immovably,  and  then  stretched  out  a 
tentative  hand  toward  the  hind  quarters  of  the  tiger, 
withdrawing  instantly. 

"No,  by  George!"  said  he  aloud,  "I  think  it's  all 
right  just  the  way  it  stands." 

But  nevertheless,  he  went  to  work  upon  another 
group,  leaving  the  diminutive  sketch  alone. 

Half  past  six  (it  being  then  dark)  found  Leigh 
on  his  way  to  the  studio  in  Muldoon  Place,  strolling 
along  meditatively  through  the  half-lit  mystery  of 
Greenwich. 

At  the  corner  of  Seventh  Avenue  he  halted, 
slapped  his  pockets,  unearthed  his  pipe  and  pouch, 
and  proceeded  to  light  up.  Then,  to  make  up  for  the 
few  moments  lost  in  this  operation,  he  dived  down 
the  little  short  cut  called  Paradise  Place.  It  was  very 
dark  in  the  little  fragment  of  a  street,  and  half-way 
down  its  narrow  span  he  bumped  into  two  men  who 
were  in  the  act  of  parting  from  each  other  with  low- 
voiced  adieux.  The  taller  of  these  two  muttered 
an  apology  almost  in  the  same  breath  with  Leigh's, 
and  was  hurrying  away,  when  the  sculptor,  catching 


96  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

sight  of  the  face  under  the  peak  of  the  cheap  and 
shabby  hat,  called  his  name. 

"Vanderpool!" 

The  millionaire  heard,  for  he  made  an  irresolute 
little  movement  as  if  to  return,  but  changing  his 
mind,  only  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  walked 
off  rapidly.  For  a  moment  Leigh  almost  doubted  the 
veracity  of  his  recognition.  Reginald  Vanderpool  in 
what  amounted  to  a  disguise!  Such  a  circumstance 
seemed  far  from  likely!  And  yet  he  could  not  be 
wrong,  for  in  the  folds  of  the  man's  coat  he  had  dis- 
tinctly seen  the  black  ribbon  and  dangling  monocle 
which  were  characteristic  of  Iris'  father.  Deuce 
take  the  man,  it  was  very  odd  for  him  to  rush  off  in 
that  manner  without  speaking!  But,  for  the  matter 
of  that,  Vanderpool  had  always  been  something  of  a 
mystery  to  his  acquaintances ! 

With  a  shrug,  Leigh  resumed  his  walk,  only  to 
have  it  borne  in  upon  him  after  a  few  moments,  that 
the  second  of  the  two  men  whom  he  had  interrupted, 
was  preceding  him.  Even  when  he  turned  into  Mul- 
doon  Place,  after  having  lost  sight  of  the  fellow  for 
a  moment,  there  he  was  again,  crossing  the  little 
paved  court  twenty-five  feet  in  advance,  and  en- 
tering at  the  basement  door! 


TWO    MEETINGS  97 

"Well,  if  that  isn't  the  darnedest  thing!"  said 
Leigh  as  he  mounted  the  stairs,  puzzled,  but  there- 
after thinking  of  it  no  more. 

He  found  Pedro  engaged  upon  a  pencil  drawing 
of  a  very  pretty  girl  in  the  act  of  washing  herself 
with  the  aid  of  a  cake  of  soap  which  she  held  in  a 
prominent  manner.  Leigh  started  slightly  as  he 
looked  at  it,  but  all  he  said  was : 

"Still  working?" 

"No,"  responded  Pedro,  "I  stopped  when  the  light 
gave  out." 

He  waved  his  hand  toward  the  smaller  easel  where 
stood  a  canvas,  upon  which  a  picture — a  street 
scene — had  been  blocked  in.  Leigh  crossed  to  look 
at  it,  and  although  the  artficial  light  made  any  real 
judgment  of  what  he  saw  difficult,  he  bent  before  it 
interestedly,  though  still  without  comment. 

"So  you  have  stopped  working,"  said  he.  "What 
do  you  call  the  thing  you  are  doing?" 

"This  is  not  my  work,"  explained  Pedro,  arising, 
and  laying  down  the  drawing-board.  "This  is  just 
to  live.  I  have  seen  many  pictures  in  advertisements 
like  this,  often  less  good,  and  perhaps  I  can  sell  it. 
Then  I  need  not  use  the  money  of  Mr.  Hill.  A  good 
idea,  eh?" 


98  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Yes,"  assented  Leigh,  still  without  any  change  of 
expression.  "You  will  be  able  to  sell  it.  Are  you 
going  to  put  Tears'  or  'Ivory'  or  what  on  that  cake 
of  soap?" 

"Whichever !"  said  Pedro  with  a  shrug. 

"Ah!"  said  Leigh,  "well,  come  out  and  play 
around  with  me.  I  never  see  any  one  much,  except 
Hill,  and  as  he  has  deserted  the  camp  you  will  have 
to  fill  his  place,  since  you  have  undertaken  to  fill  his 
studio  and  my  time." 

"All  right,"  said  Pedro. 

"Do  you  know  the  city?  Have  you  been  here  be- 
fore?" 

"No." 

"Then  you  haven't  much  choice  as  to  where  we 
go?" 

"No.   That  will  come  later." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Leigh  dryly;  "meanwhile,  I 
shall  reveal  some  places  from  which  a  choice  may  be 
made." 

Together  they  went  out.  Pedro  was  good  com- 
pany, and  Leigh  responded  to  him  readily.  Between 
these  two  had  already  sprung  up  an  intimacy  that 
was  accepted  by  both  without  surprise.  It  seemed 
so  natural  to  them  to  be  together,  the  language 


TWO    MEETINGS  99 

that  they  spoke  was  identical,  and  both  were  so 
simple  in  their  attitude  toward  life,  and  toward  each 
other,  that  they  spoke  and  acted  with  the  feeling  of 
old  comrades  from  the  first 

It  was  a  merry  excursion  upon  which  they  went, 
merry  and  innocent  in  the  way  that  things  are  in- 
nocent to  those  who  think  no  evil.  Arm  in  arm  they 
strode  into  their  adventure  of  the  commonplace,  the 
tall  ungainly  figure  and  the  slight  graceful  one, 
keenly  observant  of  their  surroundings  which  were 
replete  with  interest  for  both.  With  comment, 
turn  and  turn  about,  upon  the  things  they  saw, 
they  passed  through  half  a  dozen  places  of 
amusement,  finding  themselves  at  about  midnight 
seated  at  a  little  round  table  in  the  Cafe  Lafayette ; 
their  left  hands  upon  the  frosted  surfaces  of  amer 
picons,  and  their  right  fists  belaboring  the  little  table 
to  emphasize  the  periods  of  a  cosmic  problem  then 
under  discussion.  Having  run  the  gamut  of  conver- 
sational subjects,  they  were  wallowing  in  a  most 
complicated  and  intricate  discussion  of  ethics.  A 
sentence  or  two  can  paint  the  picture  of  the  stage 
at  which  their  intimacy  had  arrived  within  the  span 
of  half  a  dozen  hours. 

"But  why  do  you  not  believe  in  the  thing  called 


ioo  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

sin?"  Leigh  was  protesting,  with  an  earnestness 
born  of  the  hour  of  night.  "Personally,  I  am  con- 
vinced that  it  is  a  most  potent  factor  in  life.  For  in- 
stance, hypocrisy  is  a  sin  (to  my  mind,  at  least), 
and  by  a  sin  I  do  not  mean  an  act,  the  discovery  of 
which  would  cover  one  with  mortification  and  con- 
fusion and  fear — like  murder,  say;  but  a  mental 
process  by  which  one  gives  one's  soul  into  bondage; 
which  stunts  the  growth  of  the  spirit,  to  our  own 
horror  in  the  face  of  our  futile,  because  tardy,  re- 
sistance." 

"An  act  whose  chief  punishment  lies  in  its  discov- 
ery by  ourselves,"  said  Pedro. 

"Exactly !"  said  Leigh. 

At  which  subtle  agreement  they  were  each  enor- 
mously impressed  with  his  own  intellectuality. 

There  was  a  silence. 

"Ah,  well!"  said  Leigh  finally,  "the  night  and 
the  city  have  turned  our  heads.  Let  us  go  home." 

Pedro  followed  him  out  into  the  cold  night  air, 
with  cheeks  still  flushed  from  the  excitement  of  his 
emotion,  due  to  the  rare  pleasure  of  being  listened 
to  by  some  one  capable  of  understanding  what  he 
said.  And  Leigh,  the  while  he  closed  the  discus- 
sion, watched  the  earnest  young  face  beside  him, 


TWO    MEETINGS  101 

with  an  interest  beyond  any  he  had  yet  experienced. 
Who  was  this  young  man,  anyhow? 

The  question  was  one  that  lulled  him  to  sleep 
that  night,  and  persistently  confronted  him  on  his 
awakening  next  morning. 

Why  was  the  boy  so  reticent  about  his  origin,  his 
people,  his  nationality  even.  Sometimes  one  would 
swear  Pedro  to  be  a  Spaniard;  yet  he  spoke  Italian 
fluently,  and  French,  too.  It  was  Pedro,  for  exam- 
ple, who  had  ordered  the  amer  picons.  His  talk  was 
a  queer  mixture  of  the  elegance  of  phrase  which 
comes  with  a  literal  translation  from  a  Latin  lan- 
guage, and  the  jargon  of  the  gutters.  Yet,  when  he 
became  earnest  and  wished  to  press  a  point,  good 
English  seemed  to  come  to  him  with  amazing  readi- 
ness. And  the  quality  of  the  boy's  work!  It  was 
astounding!  This  latter  thought  stimulated  action. 

Slowly  Abraham  Lincoln  Leigh  arose  from  his 
untidy  bed,  and  in  the  early  light  of  the  wintry 
morning,  strode  into  his  workshop.  Half-way  across 
the  floor  he  stopped,  adding  his  ungainly  figure  to 
the  motionless  throng  which  stood  about.  For  sev- 
eral minutes  he  stood  stock-still,  and  then,  with  rapid 
skilful  ringers  began  to  curve  back  the  hind  quarters 
of  the  tiger  in  the  little  plasterline  sketch. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  PEOPLE  DOWN-STAIRS    - 

IT  has  been  said  that  as  Leigh  entered  the  front 
door  of  the  studio  building  in  Muldoon  Place, 
the  second,  and  to  him  unknown,  of  the  two  men 
whose  conference  in  Paradise  Place  he  had  inter- 
rupted, entered  the  same  building  by  the  basement 
way.  This  latter  person  was  a  tall  dark  man,  unmis- 
takably Latin  in  type,  and  that  the  house  was  fa- 
miliar to  him  was  evinced  by  the  air  with  which  he 
manipulated  the  latch  and  admitted  himself. 

The  little  hall  was  stuffy  and  ill  lighted  by  a  single 
gas-burner  in  a  wire  cage;  and  from  the  rear  room 
came  an  odor  of  cooking.  But  it  was  not  these  facts 
that  caused  the  man  to  stop  short,  the  crease  be- 
tween his  eyes  deepening  as  he  stood  listening.  In 
the  hall  above,  Leigh's  footstep  could  be  plainly 
heard.  The  man  below  approached  the  staircase  with 
absolute  noiselessness,  and  ascending  part  way,  man- 
aged to  get  a  good  look  at  the  sculptor  without  al- 

102 


THE    PEOPLE    DOWN-STAIRS        103 

lowing  himself  to  be  seen.  All  unconscious,  the  lat- 
ter continued  to  tramp  up  toward  the  attics,  and  with 
a  muttered  oath,  quickly  suppressed,  the  watcher  re- 
turned to  the  basement  as  cautiously  as  he  had  as- 
cended. At  the  door  of  the  front  room  he  tapped 
discreetly,  and  after  a  brief  interval,  during  which 
there  was  a  scurrying  sound  within  and  the  muffled 
closing  of  some  interior  door,  that  before  which  he 
stood  was  opened  a  crack  while  a  smooth  voice,  with 
only  a  slight  foreign  accent,  inquired  who  was  with- 
out. 

"It  is  only  me.  Open  up,  Ricardo,"  replied  the 
man  in  the  hall.  At  which  the  door  was  thrown  back, 
revealing  a  tall  bearded  man  who  waved  an  invita- 
tion to  enter. 

"Ah,  Yznaga !"  he  exclaimed  in  Spanish.  "So  it 
is  thou !  Enter,  my  friend,  but  I  beg  you  will  re- 
member that  in  this  house  I  am  Mr.  Rowe.  Such  ex- 
clamations, however  cordial,  must  not  be  made  in  the 
public  halls !" 

"Ever  cautious !"  exclaimed  the  visitor.  "Now  I 
am  not  even  to  speak  aloud !  Well,  you  are  wise !  I 
obey!" 

He  seated  himself  beside  the  table  and  mopped 
his  face  with  a  thin  silk  handkerchief.  A  fine  figure 


104  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY, 

of  a  man,  almost  noble  in  bearing,  and  exception- 
ally well  dressed  beneath  his  shabby  overcoat.  Rowe 
brought  out  glasses  and  a  decanter,  pouring  for  his 
guest  and  for  himself. 

"The  house  is  at  your  disposal,"  he  said,  after  the 
Spanish  manner.  Then,  this  formal  courtesy  dis- 
charged, he  leaned  anxiously  toward  the  other. 

"Did  you  see  him?"  he  asked. 

Yznaga  nodded. 

"I  did." 

"And  he  will  buy  the  necessary  armaments  ?" 

"Yes,  but  he  is  a  hard  customer,  that  Van    .    .    ." 

"Hush!  Not  that  name,  above  all  others!"  im- 
plored the  host.  "That  he  will  pay  is  all  I  need  to 
hear!" 

"He  will  pay  for  them,"  responded  Yznaga. 
"Moreover,  he  is  no  fool,  and  intends  dealing 
through  me  only  as  an  agent.  No  cash !  But  we  shall 
arrange  the  estimate  and  the  bid  in  such  a  way  as  to 
retain  a  little  for  ourselves,  eh?" 

Rowe  growled  at  this,  and  the  other  went  on. 

"No,  our  wealthy  patron  would  be  very  difficult  to 
defraud.  He  is  a  man  to  whose  capability  I  make 
my  bow !  And  his  caution !  By  the  way,"  he  added 


THE    PEOPLE    DOWN-STAIRS        105 

abruptly,  "who  lives  on  the  top  floor  of  this  build- 
ing?" 

"A  painter  by  the  name  of  Samuel  Hill,"  replied 
Rowe,  "an  easy-going  young  man.  He's  the  land- 
lord." 

"Have  you  any  acquaintance  with  him?" 
"No  more  than  is  absolutely  necessary !" 
"Ah !  your  exclusiveness !    Sometimes  I  think  that 
it  is  a  mistake — that  it  will  attract  attention !    But  of 
that,  later.   Tell  me,  is  this  landlord  of  yours  a  tall 
homely  fellow?" 

"No,"  said  Rowe;  "why  do  you  ask?" 
"Because  when  He-of-whom-you-know  and  I 
were  parting  just  now,  such  a  person  interrupted  us, 
whether  intentionally  or  not,  I  can  not  tell.  But  he 
recognized  Vander — recognized  him,  of  that  much  I 
am  certain.  And  what  is  more,  he  followed  me  to 
this  house  and  is  up-stairs  at  this  moment !" 

For  a  moment  Rowe  glared  at  the  other  with  an 
expression  of  intent  alarm.  Then  his  features  re- 
laxed. 

"A  great  tall  fellow,  did  you  say?"  he  mused. 
Then  a  light  broke  upon  him.  "A  giant  with  a  long 
face  and  ungainly  carriage;  that  would  be  Leigh, 


106  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

the  sculptor,  a  great  friend  of  the  landlord.  And 
he  would  know  him,  also !  No  need  to  worry  about 
that.  As  for  his  following  you,  that  was  mere  coin- 
cidence. He  comes  here  to  visit  Hill  almost  daily." 

"You  relieve  my  mind,  Rowe,"  replied  Yznaga, 
lighting  a  cigarette.  "And  now  for  our  project. 
He-of-whom-you-know  refuses  absolutely  to  commit 
himself  on  paper.  He  will  spend,  yes!  It  is  for  a 
great  purpose,  in  a  noble  cause!  But  he  will  sign 
nothing !  What  have  we  to  hold  him  by  ?" 

"The  money  he  spends !"  replied  Rowe  grimly. 

"Will  that  suffice?  This  business  is  against  the 
law,  you  know,  and — " 

"I  have  something  that  will  hold  him,"  replied 
Rowe.  "I  still  have  the  thing  by  means  of  which  I 
first  interested  him !" 

"Which  is?"  said  the  other  suggestively. 

Rowe  laughed,  an  unpleasant  laugh  that  was 
characteristic  of  him,  and  reached  for  the  wine. 

"That,  my  simple  friend,  I  am  not  going  to  re- 
veal," said  he  politely.  "But  its  efficacy  you  need 
not  doubt.  Has  it  not  sufficed  so  far?  Why  should 
you  doubt  that  it  will  work  in  future,  until  we  have 
sucked  this  simple  American  gentleman  dry? 
Paugh  !  I  hold  him  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand !" 


THE    PEOPLE    DOWN-STAIRS        107 

"So  you  possess  knowledge  of  some  secret  that 
he  fears  the  exposure  of !  Ah,  I  suspected  as  much." 

"I  have  not  said  so,"  replied  Rowe,  smiling  confi- 
dently at  the  end  of  his  cigarette.  "Be  content, 
.Yznaga,  that  my  knowledge  serves  its  purpose." 

"And  serves  to  keep  you  leader  of  this  enter- 
prise !"  snapped  the  visitor.  "Very  well.  Have  it  as 
you  will !  Thank  the  blessed  saints  you  have  no 
hold  over  me!  I  should  dislike  to  find  myself  in 
those  nicotine-stained  fingers  of  yours,  amigo  mio!" 

"Perhaps  you  are  in  them,"  remarked  Rowe, 
amused. 

"I!    What  nonsense !" 

"How  about  your  connection  with  this  affair? 
Does  it  not  place  you  somewhat  at  my  mercy?  A 
respectable  member  of  the  International  Commerce 
Committee — " 

"Hush !"  said  the  other,  paling  a  trifle.  "You  are 
right.  I  admit  the  precariousness  of  my  position. 
But  granting  that  you  can  control  him,  and  myself, 
what  have  you  to  offer  the  mob  ?  The  people,  or  any 
body  of  them,  must  have  an  idol,  or  an  ideal  for 
which  to  fight.  Nothing  else  will  really  arouse  them, 
nor  hold  them.  It  must  be  politics,  or  emotion.  In 
this  case,  as  you  are  well  aware,  the  political  side  of 


io8  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

the  question  is  not  sufficiently  strong.  Can  you  in- 
vent an  ideal  that  will  appeal  strongly  enough  to 
start  a  revolution?  Here  we  have  the  cart-before- 
the-mule.  In  other  words,  strong  financial  backing; 
a  patron  whom  we  (or  rather  you)  can  absolutely 
control;  a  complete  knowledge  of  our  country; 
everything,  in  fact,  except  the  sentiment  of  the  peo- 
ple. In  short,  it  is  a  highway  to  power  for  us  both, 
blocked  by  the  apathy  of  half  a  million  ragged  half- 
breeds!" 

"Yznaga,  my  esteemed  and  admired  friend,"  be- 
gan Rowe,  never  losing  his  amused  smile,  "you 
are  such  a  charming,  well-bred,  representative  per- 
son that  you  fit  the  role  of  pseudo  cabinet  minister 
to  perfection ;  and  you  are  such  a  fool,  that  you  are 
the  ideal  minister  of  state.  I  don't  wonder  that  our 
respected  patron  actually  believes  you  are  what  you 
represent  yourself  to  be !" 

The  man  opposite  sprang  to  his  feet  with  an  oath. 

"A  fool!"  he  cried;  "you  call  me  a  fool?" 

"Sit  down,  and  stop  confirming  my  opinions  so 
nicely,"  grinned  Rowe,  "or  you  may  bring  the  house 
down  about  our  ears  with  that  yelling." 

Yznaga  complied,  but  sat  frowning. 


THE    PEOPLE    DOWN-STAIRS        109 

"Very  well,"  said  he,  "say  what  you  like.  But 
calling  me  a  fool  will  not  prove  you  a  wise  man." 

"Admitted,"  said  Rowe.  "But  I  am  wiseacre 
enough  to  be  forehanded  about  a  matter  like  this  of 
public  sentiment  in  our  beloved  country.  Let  me  ask 
you  a  question.  What  would  the  people  rise  for? 
Think  well.  You  know  the  answer !" 

Yznaga  was  silent  for  a  moment,  rubbing  the 
palms  of  his  hands  together  as  he  thought  hard.  At 
last  he  spoke,  but  it  was  as  one  who  mentions  a  de- 
sirable but  unobtainable  circumstance. 

"There  is  Signora  Daussa  and  her  child,"  said  he 
slowly.  "But  of  course  that  is  out  of  the  question. 
No  one  knows  where  they  are,  and  in  all  probability 
they  were  killed  during  the  big  uprising." 

"That  was  never  known  as  a  certainty,"  said 
Rowe  with  meaning. 

Yznaga  looked  up  sharply. 

"You  mean  to  say — "  he  began. 

Rowe  raised  a  hand,  warning  him  to  silence. 

"Listen !"  he  said,  "I  have  for  years  known  the 
whereabouts  of  our  ex-president's  wife,  and  am  in 
daily — hourly — communication  with  her.  Indeed, 
she  is  less  than  a  mile  from  this  very  spot !  She  has 


i  io  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

practically  no  English,  and  therefore  it  is  safe 
enough  to  take  her  about  with  me  a  little  sometimes. 
As  for  explanations ;  that  is  easy.  She  has  no  money 
except  what  she  could  get  for  her  few  jewels,  and 
she  has  deigned  to  accept  my  assistance.  She  is  ac- 
cepting it  for  a  purely  personal  service,  also,  which 
is  confidential,  and  which  consequently  I  can  not  tell 
you.  But  all  this  is  irrelevant.  The  main  thing 
that  I  wish  you  to  understand  is  the  fact  that  I 
have  in  her  the  one  thing  which  will  create  a  popular 
feeling.  In  other  words,  her  restitution!" 

"If  the  others — the  doubting  ones — could  but  see 
her  once,  we  would  have  them  with  us  heart  and 
soul !"  said  Yznaga. 

Rowe  thought  for  a  moment. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  had  intended  that  they  should, 
of  course,  sooner  or  later.  In  a  few  weeks'  time  they 
shall  see  her.  In  the  meantime  your  work  will  be  to 
prepare  their  minds  for  that  event  You  must  take 
bogus  messages  from  her  to  them;  give  them  every 
confidence  that  she  is  in  sympathy  with  the  move- 
ment. But  one  thing  must  be  strictly  observed.  He- 
of-whom-you-know  must  be  told  nothing  of  her  ex- 
istence until  I  give  the  word.  Remember  that.  To 
be  frank  with  you,  I  do  not  believe  that  she  will  be 


THE    PEOPLE    DOWN-STAIRS        in 

Jn  sympathy  with  us.  She  cares  little  for  pomp  or 
power.  When  the  time  comes  for  her  to  see  the 
others,  they  must  be  warned  to  say  very  little  to  her, 
and  I  shall  see  to  it  that  she,  on  her  part,  does  not  be- 
tray the  ignorance  in  which  I  think  it  will  be  best  to 
keep  her." 

"As  you  will!"  replied  Yznaga.  "I  am  too  much 
dazed  by  this  revelation  to  dispute  with  you.  I  shall 
go  now,  and  during  the  next  few  weeks  I  shall  pro- 
cure those  estimates.  And  now  good  night!" 

"Via  usted  con  Dios!"  said  Rowe  as  to  a  beggar, 
closing  the  door  after  him. 

As  long  as  the  sound  of  Yznaga's  footsteps  could 
he  heard,  Rowe  sat  staring  in  the  direction  of  them, 
nodding  his  head  meditatively. 

"He,  too,  loves  her,"  he  said  aloud,  "and  will  not 
move  alone,  or  in  the  dark,  for  fear  of  hurting  her." 

Then  he  turned  and  gathered  up  the  unsigned 
documents  that  Yznaga  had  thrown  upon  the  table, 
his  face  clouding  again  at  the  sight  of  them. 

"He  is  right;  we  are  too  conspicuous,  living  so 
closely,"  he  muttered ;  "we  must  go  about,  and  seem 
like  other  folk." 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  PARTY  IN  THE  ALLEY 

FOR  the  five  weeks  that  led  into  the  heart  of 
the  winter,  Pedro  worked  almost  incessantly. 

From  daylight  till  dark  he  scarcely  left  the  studio, 
and  only  at  night  (when  they  were  not  too  tired) 
would  he  go  forth  with  Leigh  upon  what  they  began 
to  call  "perception  prowls."  At  other  times  they 
would  sit  together  and  read,  or  talk;  sometimes  in 
the  wide  cushioned  ingle-nook  at  Pedro's ;  again  in 
tilted  chairs,  their  boots  upon  the  rim  of  Leigh's 
stove.  Every  topic  under  the  sun  was  brought  forth 
and  threshed  out;  yet  the  more  they  talked,  the  more 
they  found  to  say,  usually  ending  their  arguments  by 
an  arrival  at  similar  conclusions.  And  gradually  the 
magic  of  companionable  silence  would  creep  upon 
them,  while  the  sculptor  lighted  pipe  after  pipe,  and 
the  white  stumps  of  Pedro's  cigarettes  strewed  the 
hearth. 

Leigh  was  a  man  who  made  few  friends;  thus  it 
came  about  that  Pedro  met  hardly  any  other  people. 

112 


A    PARTY    IN    THE    ALLEY          113 

But  he  was  well  content  that  such  should  be  the  case, 
delighting  as  he  did  in  Leigh's  society,  and  utterly 
satisfied  with  the  gentle  adventures  upon  which  the 
latter  led  him. 

Strange  little  cafes  served  them,  and  sometimes 
more  pretentious  places.  When  Leigh  was  flush, 
they  dined  at  Mouquin's,  in  the  mirrored  room 
down-stairs,  where  Bohemians  and  friends  of  Bohe- 
mians foregather  to  sit  side  by  side  upon  the  leather- 
covered  sofas  against  the  wall,  hold  their  ladies' 
hands  beneath  the  table,  drink  the  excellent  and  in- 
expensive wine,  and  eat  that  most  adorable  salad 
with  the  garlic  in  it.  Here  the  air  was  thick  with 
cigarette  smoke  and  art  talk — with  talk  of  work,  of 
salad  dressing,  and  of  love — of  love,  alas!  both 
bought  and  given.  Truly  it  is  a  delicious  place;  but 
you  must  go  to  the  cafe  down-stairs. 

The  symphony  concerts  began,  and  from  the  top- 
most seats  in  that  vast  hall  which  bears  its  donor's 
name,  they  sat  and  gazed  adown  the  shelving  sea  of 
faces,  flecked,  foam-like,  with  fluttering  programs, 
to  where,  upon  the  island  of  the  stage,  a  collection 
of  insects — great  crickets,  ants,  grasshoppers  and 
katydids — rbrought  forth  divine  music  at  the  waving 
of  a  magic  wand. 


ii4  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY, 

Through  the  Fall  Academy  they  wandered,  too, 
and  smaller  exhibitions  in  the  backs  of  shops,  and  in 
the  lesser  galleries.  And  from  one  of  these  latter 
visits  came  about  Pedro's  choice  of  the  great  De 
Bush  as  his  future  adviser.  Ah !  there  was  a  painter 
for  you ! 

Once  they  attended  a  prize-fight,  gaining  an  en- 
trance with  great  difficulty,  and,  with  the  crowd,  be- 
ing obliged  to  disperse  before  the  contest  was  ended, 
much  to  the  relief  of  Pedro,  who  found  it  not  at  all 
to  his  taste. 

Of  all  the  topics  they  found  to  dissect,  architecture 
was  a  favorite,  and  they  would  sometimes  stand  gaz- 
ing up  the  front  of  a  tall  building,  discussing  its 
merits  or  demerits,  with  many  an  emphatic  gesture. 
Soon  a  little  crowd  would  gather  to  see  what  the 
matter  was,  and  sometimes  Leigh  would  address 
them,  explaining  that  the  building  was  good,  or  bad, 
and  why.  The  crowd  generally  melted  away  before 
he  had  finished,  but  the  two  friends  were  not  in  the 
least  discouraged  by  this,  and  continued  to  feel  that 
they  were  awakening  the  public  taste. 

Another  evening  occupation  lay  in  walking  where 
the  crowds  were  thickest — Broadway  at  eleven  p.  m., 
the  Bowery,  the  teeming  avenues  at  nightfall. 


A    PARTY    IN    THE    ALLEY          115 

And  gradually  these  began  to  appear  upon  the  can- 
vases that  Pedro  started,  only  to  fling  away,  half- 
finished.  The  lady  with  the  cake  of  soap,  he  did 
complete,  however,  and  as  Leigh  had  predicted,  he 
sold  it  for  a  very  decent  price.  Thus  the  smiling 
soap-lady  was  providing  his  food,  while  the  house  in 
which  he  lived,  as  developments  showed,  belonged 
to  his  benefactor. 

That  this  rose-colored  existence  should  continue 
forever  was  taken  for  granted  by  Pedro,  whose  sole 
lack  was  Mr.  Jones.  But  one  day  Leigh  sent  word 
that  he  had  been  called  out  of  town  by  a  commission, 
and  might  be  gone  a  week  or  more. 

During  the  span  of  six  days  Pedro  managed  very 
well  alone,  simply  getting  up  earlier  than  ever,  and 
working  harder ;  for  Leigh  had  come  to  satisfy  him 
so  completely  that  he  fancied  no  one  else  could  take 
the  sculptor's  place.  On  the  seventh  day,  Leigh  not 
having  as  yet  returned,  he  ate  a  solitary  meal,  and 
feeling  lonely,  went  to  the  gallery  of  a  theater. 

The  play  was  a  melodramatic  affair,  and  on  either 
hand  sat  people  who  refused  to  respond  to  his  criti- 
cal analysis  of  the  dramatist's  work;  so,  after  the 
second  act,  he  left,  much  bored,  and  filled  with  a 
longing  for  dancing  and  companions,  for  laughter 


ii6  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

and  inconsequential  talk :  a  most  natural  and  whole- 
some desire  for  the  amusements  common  to  his  years. 

"I  wish,"  said  Pedro  aloud,  "that  I  was  going  to 
a  party." 

The  night  was  gray-cold  and  the  sidewalks 
showed  damp,  treacherously  slippery  stains.  Around 
the  corners  whipped  a  keen  north  wind.  He  turned 
into  deserted  Fifth  Avenue,  and  began  to  walk 
down-town  rapidly.  As  he  went,  a  splendid  man- 
sion, behind  whose  shaded  windows  glowed  warm 
lights,  attracted  his  attention.  Into  its  awninged 
door  the  guests  were  pouring,  and  a  faint  blast  of 
music  came  out  to  him  as  he  paused  for  a  moment 
beside  the  yawning  canvas  tunnel.  A  miserable  cat 
curled  itself  about  his  legs,  but  when  he  stopped  to 
pet  it,  the  creature  bounded  away  into  the  darkness 
of  the  area.  Pedro  walked  on,  and  again  he  said 
aloud : 

"I  really  do  want  to  go  to  a  party !" 

Then  a  thought  struck  him.  If  a  party  was  what 
he  wanted  to  go  to — why  not  go  to  one?  There 
were  the  cafes — but  no!  He  wanted  a  real  party, 
with  invited  guests,  and  laughter,  and  refreshments, 
hospitality  offered.  From  side  to  side  he  glanced  at 
the  houses  as  he  passed,  confident,  and  hesitating 


A    PARTY    IN    THE    ALLEY.          117 

merely  that  he  might  choose  the  better.  But  no 
party  presented  itself,  while  the  trail  led  farther  and 
farther  down-town.  Soon  an  occasional  loft  building 
arose  between  the  dwellings  and  atop  the  latter,  the 
northern  skylights  became  more  numerous.  But  most 
of  these  were  dark,  or  showed  only  faint  glimmers 
of  light,  like  lamps  of  timid  souls,  who  feared  the 
subtle  night. 

Was  there  really  no  party  at  which  he  might  be 
welcome?  The  cruel,  inhospitable,  and  self-suf- 
ficient attitude  of  the  city  now  struck  him  for  the 
first  time.  Abstractedly  he  had  seen  it;  concretely, 
as  touching  himself,  he  had  not  realized  it  before. 
Why,  why  could  he  find  no  open  door?  He  was 
nice;  he  was  perhaps  even  charming,  he  thought. 
Yet  he  was  alone,  and  he  did  not  want  to  be.  It  was 
so  little  that  he  asked — just  the  right  to  laugh  and 
talk  with  his  kind — and  no  place  offered  save  sa- 
loons, and  dens  of  ... 

Suddenly  he  felt  like  a  prisoner,  jailed  in  a  prison 
that  is  limitless,  yet  cramped  because  it  is,  in  fact 
a  prison.  To  shake  off  this  morbid  fancy,  he  began 
to  run,  and  sped  through  the  silent  frosty  streets  as 
though  the  gruesome  sardonic  spirit  of  civilization 
was  speeding  after  him  with  handcuffs. 


ii8  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY, 

Breathless  at  last,  and  indignantly  helpless,  he 
came  to  a  standstill  beside  the  open  gateway  of  a 
little  impasse  that  had  once  or  twice  attracted  his 
passing  attention.  From  wall  to  wall  it  was  paved 
with  uneven  flagging,  and  down  the  center  ran  an 
open  gutter.  The  buildings  were  squat  two-story 
affairs  of  old  brick,  and  had  once  been  stables,  but 
as  he  looked  more  closely,  the  light  of  the  scattered 
bracket-lamps  revealed  the  fact  that  they  had  been 
converted  into  studios.  At  the  windows  of  most 
clustered  flower-boxes  and  trellised  vines,  dead  now, 
and  shriveled.  An  occasional  doorway  had  been 
beautified  by  the  handicraft  of  the  inhabitant. 

Near  the  entrance,  one  building,  which  retained 
the  wide  stable-doors,  showed  a  white  litter  on  its 
sill,  as  though  a  stone  shop  was  within,  and  on  the 
floor  above  it  an  immovable  silhouette  against  the 
drawn  curtain  proclaimed  that  a  sculptor  dwelt 
there.  All  the  other  buildings  but  one  were  dark, 
and  like  a  bit  of  the  old  world,  the  miniature  street 
nestled  timidly  almost  in  the  shadow  of  its  giant 
neighbors,  the  sky-scrapers.  At  its  hospitable  aspect 
Pedro  felt  better  directly.  From  the  lighted  build- 
ing, half-way  down  its  limited  stretch,  a  soft  radi- 


A    PARTY    IN    THE    ALLEY          119 

ance  shone  out,  uncurtained  and  cheery,  and  the 
sounds  of  revelry  came  muffled  to  his  ear.  Quite 
shamelessly  he  walked  to  where  its  window  met  level 
with  his  shoulder,  and  flattening  his  nose  against  the 
pane,  looked  in. 

A  dimly  lit  room  full  of  animated  people  met  his 
gaze.  A  youth,  with  a  cigarette  dangling  from  the 
corner  of  his  mouth,  was  playing  softly  on  the 
piano,  while  just  beyond,  two  people  were  dancing. 
Immediately  in  front  of  the  watcher  was  a  row  of 
heads,  their  owners  being  seated  upon  a  bench  which 
ran  directly  beneath  the  window.  These  heads  some- 
what obstructed  Pedro's  view  of  the  interior,  but 
they  were  interesting  in  themselves.  Two  were 
men's,  seated  at  the  farther  end.  One  of  them  was 
slightly  bald,  the  meager  black  hair  brushed  across 
it  in  ineffectual  whisps.  The  other's  hair  was  brown, 
thick  and  close-curling,  with  the  vigor  of  youth  and 
health.  These  two  wagged  and  bobbed  in  animated 
discussion.  The  head  next  to  them  was  a  woman's, 
gray  and  ill-dressed.  Then  came  the  last  two,  just 
in  front  of  Pedro, — those  of  a  man  and  a  girl.  Her 
yellow  curls  lay  aslant  his  collar  in  the  most  naive 
manner.  The  youth's  head  was  sleek  and  dark,  and 


120  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

the  cords  at  the  back  of  his  neck  gave  Pedro  the  no- 
tion that  he  was  not  comfortable,  but  did  not  dare  to 
move  for  fear  of  offending  the  lady. 

Suddenly  the  street  door  was  flung  wide  to  emit  a 
little  knot  of  men  who  carried  between  them  the  limp 
form  of  a  woman.  Pedro  drew  back  into  the  shad- 
ows and  watched. 

The  exact  nature  of  the  trouble  he  could  not  de- 
termine, and  neither  could  he  see  the  woman  very 
distinctly,  but  the  air  seemed  to  revive  her,  and  pres- 
ently a  cab  appeared,  into  which  she  was  put,  and 
driven  off  with  one  of  the  men.  The  rest  then  re- 
entered  the  house,  closing  the  door  with  a  bang.  The 
little  episode  affected  Pedro  strangely.  Why  should 
he  be  so  distressed  at  what  was  in  no  way  connected 
with  him,  he  wondered?  Could  the  woman  have 
been  hurt,  perhaps  seriously?  But  no!  The  music 
within  had  begun  again,  and  some  one  was  singing. 
Surely  nothing  very  terrible  could  have  happened. 
At  any  rate,  he  would  not  permit  it  to  depress  him. 
He  longed  to  be  gay. 

Again  he  stepped  to  the  inviting  window  and 
pressed  his  face  against  it,  only  to  be  confronted  in- 
stantly by  a  mass  of  red-gold  hair!  At  first  he 
could  scarcely  believe  his  eyes;  but  it  was  true — 


A    PARTY    IN    THE   ALLEY          121 

there  was  no  mistaking  those  gleaming  braids — she 
was  there,  the  Madonna  Lady,  standing  within  the 
warm  room,  her  shoulder  turned  toward  him.  Act- 
ing on  a  sudden  impulse,  Pedro  ran  to  the  door,  and 
knocked. 

Almost  at  once,  it  was  opened  by  a  little  man  with 
a  smooth  boyish  face  and  sandy  hair.  Although 
far  from  handsome,  the  magnetism  of  his  personal- 
ity struck  Pedro  immediately,  awakening  an  answer- 
ing chord  in  the  latter.  For  a  moment  the  little  man 
looked  the  boy  over,  and  then  his  weird  expressive 
face  broke  into  a  smile. 

"Were  you  looking  for  Milligan?"  he  asked. 

"I  was  looking  for  a  party,"  said  Pedro,  smiling 
in  return. 

"Well,  there's  several  inside,"  said  the  little  man, 
waving  a  hand  toward  the  dimly  lighted  room  be- 
hind him.  "Some  friend  of  yours  here?" 

"I  just  wanted — "  began  Pedro,  when  a  girl's 
voice  broke  in. 

"He  is  a  friend  of  mine,  Don,"  said  the  red-haired 
girl,  emerging  from  the  crowded  studio.  She  had 
noted  his  entrance  and  immediately  made  her  way 
toward  him.  "Aren't  you  going  to  let  him  in?''  she 
concluded. 


122  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

One  would  have  sworn  that  she  had  been  expect- 
ing him,  thought  Pedro.  Evidently  she  had  not  for- 
got the  roadside  encounter. 

"Pedro  is  the  humble  servant  of  you  both,"  said 
he,  with  that  sweeping  bow  of  his. 

"And  this  is  Mr.  Milligan,  our  host,"  said  she. 

The  two  shook  hands,  and  even  while  Milligan 
muttered  something  by  way  of  acknowledging  the 
introduction,  he  was  carried  off  by  a  phalanx  of  men 
who  came  up,  clamoring  for  more  beer.  With  a 

0 

swift  gesture  the  girl  beckoned  to  Pedro,  and  he  fol- 
lowed up  a  narrow  winding  staircase  which  brought 
them  out  upon  the  little  balcony.  The  Madonna 
Lady  seated  herself  upon  a  divan  and  motioned 
Pedro  to  follow  suit.  Below  them,  in  the  studio,  the 
crowd  surged  dimly  like  a  wind-blown  flower  gar- 
den in  the  afterglow  of  sundown.  The  corner  of  the 
balcony  that  she  had  chosen,  however,  was  prac- 
tically deserted.  As  he  took  the  proffered  seat,  she 
seemed  suddenly  overcome  with  shyness.  Perhaps 
the  realization  of  her  unusual  act  had  frightened  her, 
and  she  rather  dreaded  its  consequences.  But  Pedro 
was  less  timid  now  than  when  his  bear  had  rescued 
her,  and  besides,  he  was  desperately  lonely.  As  he 


A    PARTY    IN    THE    ALLEY          123 

spoke,  that  musical  voice  of  his,  with  its  soft  foreign 
intonation,  was  inaudible  two  feet  away. 

"Madonna,  I  saw  you  through  the  window,  and  I 
could  not  resist  coming  in,  even  though  I  was  a 
stranger  to  the  house." 

She  smiled  at  him. 

"You  saved  me  just  in  time,"  he  continued,  "else  I 
might  have  failed  of  entrance." 

"And  you  really  came  because  you  saw  me?" 

"For  what  other  reason?"  said  he.  "Madonna, 
what  is  your  name?" 

"Iris,"  said  she,  lifting  her  great  eyes  that  were 
like  those  selfsame  blossoms.  "My  father's  name  is 
Vanderpool.  What  other  name  have  you,  beside 
Pedro?" 

"I  have  no  other,"  he  replied  after  an  almost  im- 
perceptible pause. 

She  raised  her  head,  as  if  in  disbelief.  Ah !  that 
wonderful  line  from  chin  to  breast!  Surely  some 
day  he  must  contrive  to  paint  it. 

"I  am  speaking  as  I  must,"  he  told  her.  "Will 
you  not  believe  me  when  I  say  that  the  only  name  I 
can  give  you  is  that  which  you  have  heard?" 

This  had  a  perfume  of  mystery,  but  while  it  added 


124  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

to  her  already  keen  interest  in  him,  she  maintained 
her  pose  of  offense. 

"If  it  was  only  to  be  unkind,  why  did  you  rescue 
me  just  now?"  he  asked. 

She  laughed  a  little. 

"You  once  saved  me  from  real  danger,"  she  re- 
plied; "the  least  I  could  do  was  to  spare  you,  in 
turn." 

The  eyes  with  which  she  looked  at  him  were  kind 
now.  From  sheer  pleasure  of  watching  one  so  lovely 
he  fell  into  her  mood.  Not  to  do  so  in  such  an  atmos- 
phere was  impossible.  The  dimness,  the  fantastic 
appearance  of  the  place,  the  delight  of  human  com- 
panionship, all  combined  to  entrap  him.  Around 
the  piano  a  group  was  singing  softly  in  close  har- 
mony, while  the  rest  listened,  or  flirted  in  whispers, 
or,  better  yet,  in  silence.  Swiftly  Pedro  leaned  to- 
ward her.  In  his  eyes  shone  a  light  that  might 
have  meant  pure  mischief,  but  this  she  did  not  see, 
for  she  had  turned  away  her  head  again.  His  voice 
was  very  sibilant,  carrying  a  subtlety  of  meaning 
which  was  delicate  in  the  extreme. 

"Madonna  Iris!"  he  said,  "when  you  turn  your 
head  so,  it  is  lovely  beyond  words!  Do  you  know 
that  the  line  of  your  chin  and  throat  is  like  the  sil- 


A    PARTY    IN    THE    ALLEY          125 

ver- white  edge  of  the  young  moon  ?  Ah !  Now  you 
are  angry.  Forgive  me;  but  I  have  dreamed  of  that 
line  since  first  I  saw  you !" 

There  was  a  tense  pause  between  them.  The  song 
below  stairs  was  drawing  to  a  close,  its  rising  ca- 
dence swelling  tunefully. 

"No,  I  am  not  angry,"  she  said  at  last  in  a  low 
voice,  looking  intently  at  the  sticks  of  her  fan  as  she 
spoke.  "You  see,  I  had  not  forgot  you,  either." 

Again  a  breathless  interlude.  The  song  below  was 
very  soft  now.  Like  the  echo  of  a  dream  it  died 
away.  Complete  silence  reigned  for  a  second.  Then 
a  young  man,  who  sat  upon  the  floor  in  company 
with  half  a  dozen  others,  his  frowsy  head  resting 
against  the  knees  of  a  temperamental-looking  girl 
behind  him,  turned  his  cheek  upon  the  gray-green 
art  stuff  of  her  gown,  and  gazing  soulfully  at  her, 
broke  the  spell  with  an  exaggerated  whisper. 

"Je  suis  si  heureux!"  he  sighed.  And  instantly  the 
laughter  and  applause  broke  out  clamorously.  The 
young  man  at  the  piano  struck  up  a  waltz.  Excite- 
ment leaped  in  Pedro's  eyes. 

"I  shall  not  give  you  chance  to  forget!"  he  ex- 
claimed to  his  companion.  But  before  she  could  re- 
ply, a  youth  who  had  been  watching  her,  rushed  up 


126  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

and  claimed  her  for  the  dance.  With  a  smile  she 
was  gone ;  and  in  a  few  moments  he  saw  her  and  her 
partner  emerge  upon  the  floor  below.  She  wore  a 
green  gown  of  some  silky  clinging  material,  neither 
defaced  with  trimming  nor  detracted  from  by  orna- 
ments, and  she  danced  beautifully. 

While  he  stood  watching  her,  a  man  joined  him, 
and  after  a  nod  and  the  proffer  of  a  cigarette,  which 
was  accepted,  stood  beside  him  at  the  balcony  rail. 

This  new  acquaintance  was  a  thick-set  young  man, 
blond  and  rugged  of  feature.  He  was  not  in  even- 
ing clothes — indeed,  only  two  or  three  of  the  men 
were — and  he  did  not  look  over-prosperous.  But  he 
fairly  radiated  energy  and  enthusiasm,  and  his  face 
was  strong  and  arresting.  For  several  moments  they 
stood  looking  down  into  the  crowd. 

It  was  an  interesting  gathering,  mainly  because  of 
the  physiognomy  of  the  people.  There  seemed  to  be 
no  repetition  of  type  among  them,  every  face  bearing 
its  own  special  meaning,  each  having  the  stamp  of  a 
purpose ;  yet  for  the  moment  all  were  care-free,  as  is 
the  way  of  earnest  workers  when  at  play.  The 
women  were  apparently  dressed  in  whatever  clothes 
had  best  suited  their  convenience;  some  in  high-  and 
some  in  low-necked  gowns.  One  even  wore  a  tail- 


A   PARTY    IN    THE    ALLEY          127 

ored  suit,  and  an  uncompromising  little  hat,  as 
though  she  had  happened  in  incidentally.  She 
danced,  however,  with  as  much  enjoyment  and  aban- 
don as  her  neighbor  in  frilled  muslin.  Some 
wore  the  smoothly  braided  hair,  and  "artistic"  un- 
becoming style  of  dress  generally  affected  by  the 
female  art  student;  and  others,  like  Iris,  were  fash- 
ionable in  the  extreme. 

The  men  were  no  less  heterogeneous,  their  ap- 
pearance ranging  from  the  shock-headed  to  the 
sleek,  with  clothing  to  correspond.  Oddly  assorted, 
of  widely  varying  ages,  they  nevertheless  made  as 
real  a  "party"  as  heart  could  desire.  Everybody 
smoked,  some  even  while  dancing.  Through  the 
overhanging  haze,  Pedro  could  see,  in  a  screened-off 
corner,  the  man  who  had  admitted  him  helping  a 
plump  and  pleasing  woman  of  about  thirty  to  open 
some  bottles.  By  her  busy  air,  and  merry  solicitude 
for  all  within  hailing  distance  of  her,  he  deduced 
that  she  was  the  hostess,  although  contrary  to  the 
habit  of  such,  she  was  enjoying  herself  thoroughly. 

"You're  new  to  this  crowd?"  asked  the  man  at  his 
elbow. 

"Yes,"  said  Pedro.  Then  brazenly — "A  friend  of 
Miss  Vanderpool's." 


128  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Ah !"  said  the  man.    "She's  a  good  dancer !" 

"Yes." 

"Not  like  the  other,  though;  eh,  what?" 

"What  other?"  asked  Pedro. 

"Why,  Ruth  St.  Johns,  of  course!  Didn't  you 
see  it?" 

"I  came  in  late,"  Pedro  explained.  "Sorry  I  did 
not  see  it  Tell  me  who  some  of  these  people  are," 
he  added.  "Who  is  the  little  man,  the  host?" 

"Yes,  that's  Don  Milligan,"  replied  the  man,  seem- 
ingly not  in  the  least  surprised  at  finding  a  guest 
who  was  ignorant  of  the  host's  name.  "He  sure  is  a 
nice  little  fellow — a  corker,  Don  is.  Not  a  bad 
painter,  either,  though  he's  never  done  as  good  work 
since  he's  married.  Can't,  of  course.  They  have  a 
kid,  you  see,  and  they've  got  to  live.  His  wife's  a 
wonder.  Ask  any  of  the  boys!  That's  Bell  over 
there,  talking  to  Gester,  the  sculptor.  He  eats  with 
them  all  the  time;  just  fairly  lives  here.  She's  the 
best  little  hostess  in  the  world.  Why,  it's  nothing  to 
her  to  feed  a  whole  bunch  at  a  moment's  notice.  And 
witty !  And  good  fun !  Say,  you  ought  to  get  asked 
here  to  dinner  some  time.  Talk?  Believe  me,  we 
have  some  conversations.  That's  their  cousin,  Irma 


A    PARTY    IN    THE    ALLEY          129 

Wise,  the  suffrage  lady,  in  the  pretty  blue  dress.    A 
regular  dandy,  too." 

"And  the  tall  man  with  the  so  sadly  drooping 
necktie?"  inquired  Pedro. 

"Talking  to  Heskall's  wife?  That's  a  bum  poet 
named  Nicholls.  Hey,  you  ink-splasher!"  he  called 
suddenly.  Whereat,  the  poet  looked  about  him 
vaguely,  as  though  recognizing  his  name,  and  waved 
an  empty  beer-bottle  in  the  general  direction  from 
whence  the  sound  came.  Pedro's  informant  con- 
tinued : 

"He's  dippy  about  Margot  Leeds,  with  the  silver 
chain  around  her  throat — the  lanky  girl  in  the  blue 
window-curtain  effect.  She  makes  'em — I  mean  the 
silver  chains.  Those  two  fellows  eating  the  sand- 
wiches all  up  are  the  Kensalls,  who  do  such  a  lot  of 
those  bully  drawings  for  the  cover  of  Gopher's  and 
the  shirt  advertisements.  They  always  look  glum 
like  that  I  think  it's  indigestion,  for  they  are  al- 
ways eating,  and  they  do  it  so  darned  fast." 

"Doubtless,"  said  Pedro. 

"That  fellow  with  the  wonderful  figure  is  a  writer. 
He  lived  with  me  in  Paris.  (We're  just  back  this 
year.)  He's  a  model,  also.  You  ought  to  see  his 


130  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOYi 

arms — Gee!  they're  wonderful!  Carrington,  who 
draws  half  the  book-covers  in  the  states — pretty  girl 
heads,  you  know  (rotten  stuff,  but  there's  money  in 
it) — he's  down  there.  Looks  like  a  robin.  See  him, 
the  one  with  the  glasses  on  ?" 

And  so  he  rattled  on,  saying  the  names  so  familiar 
to  himself,  so  suggestive  of  success,  so  otherwise 
meaningless  to  Pedro,  who  never  looked  twice  at 
anything  unless  it  were  exceptionally  good,  and  con- 
sequently heard  most  of  these  names  for  the  first 
time. 

"By;  the  way,  what  are  you?"  asked  the  man,  ab- 
ruptly breaking  off  his  monologue. 

"Painter,"  replied  Pedro. 

"I'm  on  the  Sun"  said  the  man.  "Theodore  Pell 
is  my  name.  Not  here  to  do  this  party,  though.  All 
friends  of  mine  here.  Wouldn't  be  such  a  rotter,  you 
know.  What's  your  name  ?" 

"I  am  Pedro,"  said  the  other  with  such  quiet  as- 
surance that  the  reporter  made  no  comment,  and 
searched  his  memory  frantically,  trying  to  place  a 
well-known  artist  of  that  name.  The  boy  spoke  as 
if  he  said,  "I  am  Sargent"  Who  the  devil  could  he 
be? 


A    PARTY    IN    THE    ALLEY          131 

There  was  a  slight  commotion  at  the  lower  door- 
way, and  a  splendid  old  man  entered. 

"Why,  there  is  Rives  De  Bush !"  exclaimed  Pell. 
"Didn't  know  he  came  here !" 

"Ah !  the  great  one !"  cried  Pedro.  "I  must  speak 
to  him." 

And  without  further  apology  he  rushed  off,  leav- 
ing the  still  greatly  puzzled  reporter  staring  after 
him  and  repeating,  "Pedro,  Pedro — one  of  the  new 
Spaniards,  I  suppose." 

While  still  debating  the  matter,  and  frowning 
over  it,  he  was  joined  by  the  friend  whom  he  had  re- 
ferred to  as  a  writer  and  professional  model.  This 
youth  was  named  Blaume,  and  came  nearer  to  re- 
sembling the  Greek  gods  than  do  the  general  run  of 
young  gentlemen  nowadays.  He  was  rather  con- 
scious of  this,  and  also  prided  himself  on  acquaint- 
ance with,  or  knowledge  of,  most  of  the  well-known 
creative  people  of  two  continents.  At  his  approach 
an  idea  occurred  to  Pell :  he  would  make  a  test  Ac- 
cordingly he  sprang  his  mine  almost  immediately. 

"Do  you  know  that  Pedro  is  here  to-night?"  he 
asked,  watching  Blaume  closely  as  he  put  the  ques- 
tion. 


132  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

Blaume  had  never  heard  the  name  before,  but 
judging  from  the  other's  tone  that  the  person  re- 
ferred to  was  one  with  whose  accomplishments  it 
was  proper  to  be  familiar,  he  simulated  knowledge. 

"You  don't  say  so!"  he  exclaimed  interestedly. 
"Where  is  he?" 

"Down  there  talking  to  De  Bush,"  replied  Pell, 
confirmed  in  the  idea  that  he  had  hitherto  overlooked 
a  celebrity. 

"That  young  fellow?"  cried  Blaume.  "Why,  I'd 
no  idea  he  was  such  a  kid !" 

"Nor  I,"  replied  Pell. 

Whereby  Pedro  became  famous. 

At  that  particular  moment  he  was  extracting  a 
promise  from  the  great  man  to  come  and  see  his 
work,  with  a  view  to  giving  a  regular  criticism.  The 
sheer  audacity  of  the  request  was  probably  what  ob- 
tained the  desired  consent.  Such  a  thing,  in  such  a 
way,  had  never  been  asked  of  De  Bush  before.  But 
Pedro  had  smiled,  and  his  earnest  starlike  eyes  had 
done  the  rest.  When  Pell  and  Blaume  approached 
them,  the  famous  painter  and  the  youthful  one  were 
chatting  like  the  old  friends  which  Pell  instantly  as- 
sumed them  to  be.  The  boy's  lack  of  timidity,  and 
frank  delight  in  his  new  master's  talk,  charmed  De 


A    PARTY    IN    THE    ALLEY          133 

Bush,  who  was  too  well  accustomed  to  that  loneli- 
ness which  is  the  fate  often  forced  upon  the  mighty 
by  an  over-respectful  public.  The  shaggy  head  was 
raised  in  lionine  majesty  to  greet  the  reporter. 

"My  young  friend  here  has  just  been  telling  me 
that  he  is  occupying  Sam  Hill's  studio,"  said  De 
Bush.  "Hill  is  going  to  be  away  for  a  year.  We 
shall  miss  him  at  The  Players." 

"Will  you  be  here  all  winter?"  Pell  inquired  of 
Pedro. 

"Yes,"  said  he. 

"What,  in  particular,  are  you  going  to  paint  in 
America?"  continued  the  reporter.  Whereat  the  in- 
nocent and  unsuspecting  Pedro  launched  into  an  en- 
thusiastic explanation  of  some  of  his  pet  theories. 

In  the  midst  of  these  he  spied  Iris  (for  the  mo- 
ment seated  alone)  and,  excusing  himself,  he  made 
his  way  toward  her.  As  soon  as  his  back  was  turned, 
Pell  pulled  out  his  notebook  and  began  making  jot- 
tings. 

"Said  he  knew  Leigh  well.  Hum! — friend  of  De 
Bush.  Great  stuff,  this!  Wonder  why  I  never 
heard  of  him  before?"  he  muttered,  writing  rapidly. 
Then  he  slipped  into  his  overcoat,  and  left  hurriedly. 

Meanwhile   Pedro    resumed   his   little   flirtation, 


134  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

quite  unconscious  that  Iris  had  been  watching  him 
all  evening  with  an  increasing  disturbance  of  the 
heart  How  romantic,  how  charming  a  figure  he  ap- 
peared to  her,  he  could  not  guess ;  nor  that  the  game 
he  played  so  lightly  was  already  in  fair  way  to  be- 
come a  serious  matter  in  her  mind.  As  she  listened 
to  his  talk,  half  jesting,  half  inspired,  always  poetic, 
she  could  not  but  compare  him  with  Hill,  greatly  to 
the  loss  of  the  latter.  Of  her  former  lover  she  made 
no  mention;  neither  did  Pedro  have  occasion  to 
speak  of  Hill;  so  that  when  they  parted,  it  was  with- 
out knowledge  of  their  mutual  acquaintance.  She 
gave  him  her  address  and  asked  him  to  lunch  with 
her  next  day.  His  first  impulse  was  to  refuse.  There 
was  his  work !  Then  the  thought  of  how  pleasant  it 
would  be  to  go  took  hold  of  him,  and  for  once  work 
was  relegated  to  second  place.  Yes !  he  would  give 
her  one  whole  precious  hour  out  of  the  very  heart  of 
the  day,  a  rare  gift,  indeed. 

"Madonna  Lady,  I  will  be  there!"  he  said,  as  he 
helped  her  into  her  carriage. 

Then  he  closed  its  door  and  allowed  her  to  be 
whirled  away,  as  she  sat  very  erect,  with  glowing 
checks.  To  herself  she  was  whispering  with  fast- 
beating  heart,  "Have  I  found  my  ideal  ?" 


A    PARTY    IN    THE   ALLEY          135 

Pedro  gazed  after  the  smart  brougham,  laughed 
slightly,  frowned,  snapped  his  fingers  and  said, 
"What's  the  harm?" 

Then,  bidding  his  hosts  good  night,  and  prom- 
ising to  return  soon,  he  conceded  with  alacrity  to  De 
Bush's  request  for  an  arm,  and  set  off  with  the  rest 
of  the  gay  throng  that  poured  from  the  Milligans' 
hospitable  door,  laughing,  and  hasting  through  the 
first  snow  of  the  year,  into  which  they  stepped,  sur- 
prised. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

OF  REVOLUTIONARY  SAVOR 

MEANWHILE,  the  cab  into  which  the  lady 
who  had  fainted  had  been  carried,  and  which 
Pedro  had  seen  drive  away  from  Milligan's  door 
before  he  gained  entrance  there,  was  halted  after  it 
had  gone  less  than  three  blocks,  and  the  directions 
that  had  been  given  before  the  assembled  guests, 
changed  to  that  of  a  little  unknown  cafe  opposite 
Central  Park,  and  some  five  miles  up-town. 

Without  protest  at  the  distance,  or  even  exacting 
the  promise  of  a  larger  fare,  the  cabby  obeyed  the 
order;  the  cab  was  wheeled  about  and  headed 

northward. 

Inside,  against  the  cushioned  wall  Senora  Daussa 
had  laid  her  head,  her  cheeks  pale,  but  her  wide  dark 
eyes  showing  that  she  had  returned  to  consciousness. 
She  was  a  beautiful  woman  of  that  rare  type,  a 
blond  Spaniard  (than  which  there  is  no  fairer),  and 
although  she  was  close  to  forty  years  of  age,  her 
slender  graceful  figure  and  erect  carriage  made  her 

136 


OF    REVOLUTIONARY    SAVOR       137 

appear  younger.  To  the  man  beside  her,  she  seemed 
the  very  incarnation  of  loveliness,  as  indeed  she  had 
always  appeared  in  his  eyes.  Her  dress,  distinctly 
un-American,  and  by  no  means  of  the  latest  fashion, 
was  yet  worn  with  chic  and  distinction,  and  beto- 
kened a  personal  daintiness  that  was  almost  ex- 
treme. About  her  head  and  shoulders  fell  a  large 
dark  cloak,  from  which  her  face  glimmered  like  a 
pearl.  Her  companion  made  a  little  motion,  as  if  to 
caress  her,  but  instead  of  responding,  she  shrank 
back  from  him  silently. 

"Madame,  you  must  not  sing  in  public  again ! 
It  is  very  charming,  but  too  conspicuous,"  he  said  in 
Spanish.  "You  must  not  sing  when  we  are  in 
public." 

She  replied  in  the  same  language. 

"You  must  not  try  to  touch  me  again  when  we  are 
alone." 

Impatiently  he  dropped  his  hands  to  his  sides. 

"Will  you  deign  to  be  reasonable?"  he  begged. 
"Let  us  keep  to  the  subject  It  is  essential  to  our 
cause  that  we  appear  as  the  best  of  friends — as 
brother  and  sister." 

"In  public,  yes — since  you  insist,"  she  interrupted, 
"but  when  we  are  alone  there  is  no  need  to  maintain 


138  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

the  farce.  You  have  no  right  whatever  to  lay  hands 
upon  me.  It  is  a  breach  of  trust." 

"Forgive  me,"  he  answered  quite  humbly,  "I — 
forget  sometimes,  because  you  drive  me  mad — espe- 
cially when  I  waltz  with  you  as  to-night.  Sometimes 
I  believe  you  scarcely  realize  I  am  your  partner,  al- 
though we  are  dancing  together.  You  seem  to  be  in 
a  sort  of  trance.  I  feel  as  though  it  were  your  soul 
that  was  dancing,  and  I  a  mere  manikin  you  accept 
mechanically.  But  you  set  me  afire  none  the  less! 
Carmen,  it  is  not  without  reason  that  I  have  served 
you  these  many  years ;  you  must — you  do  know  that 
it  is  because  I  love  you !  And  this  being  constantly 
together,  though  it  has  not  made  my  plight  less 
hopeless,  has  not  made  it  easier  to  endure." 

"I  did  not  mean  to  seem  ungrateful,  Ricardo,"  she 
answered  softly,  pathetically  even.  "Indeed,  I  know 
you  serve  me  well,  and  why, — but  let  us  drop  this 
too  painful  subject.  I  can  never  be  anything  to  you 
but  a  friend,  and  so  it  is  better  to  keep  away  from 
speech  of  such  things  as  can  only  cause  us  both  pain. 
I  like  you  well;  that,  at  least,  you  know.  Did  I  not 
dance  with  you  to-night  ?  I  danced  with  no  one  else 
but  you !" 

"Yes!"  he  said  through  his  teeth.    "But  it  must 


OF    REVOLUTIONARY    SAVOR       139 

not  occur  again.  It  is  too  conspicuous,  I  tell  you ! 
We  shall  be  observed  too  closely,  and  then — trou- 
ble!" 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment  at  this ;  then : 

"If  you  do  not  wish  me  to  be  noticed,  why  do  you 
make  me  go  about  with  you  at  times?  It  is  seldom 
enough  that  I  go ;  but  I  would  willingly  stay  at  home 
altogether,  and  leave  the  quest  in  your  hands  alone." 

"Listen,  Carmen,"  said  he;  "I  shall  again  explain. 
We  must  appear  normal  people — it  is  indispensable, 
believe  me!  What  would  seem  stranger  than  that 
you  should  never  leave  your  rooms?  The  minute 
that  any  one  does  the  least  unusual  thing  he  begins 
to  attract  attention  and  suspicion.  Those  who  ap- 
pear normal  and  uninteresting  pass  unnoticed.  Be- 
lieve me,  I  am  doing  all  in  my  power  to  locate  your 
lover.  With  your  almost  total  lack  of  English,  it 
would  be  an  impossible  task  for  you.  Truly,  I  am 
beginning  to  think  that  he  may  be  past  finding." 

Her  voice  was  chilled  by  the  force  of  control 
which  she  put  upon  herself  as  she  replied : 

"I  have  but  one  reason  for  thinking  that." 

"Which  is?"  he  queried,  peering  anxiously  at  her 
through  the  gloom. 

"My  letters!"  she  said  hoarsely.     "Why  does  he 


140  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

not  answer  them  ?  Do  they  not  reach  him  ?  And  if 
not,  for  what  reason  ?" 

"I  can  not  imagine,"  said  he.  "As  you  know,  I 
have  myself  carried  them  to  the  post  with  every, 
care." 

"You  are  kind  to  me,  Ricardo,"  she  said  gently, 
laying  her  hand  upon  his  in  sudden  gratitude. 

In  an  instant  he  had  seized  her  hand  and  covered 
it  with  burning  kisses.  Moaning,  she  snatched  it 
away  and  drew  back,  shivering,  into  her  corner. 

"I — I  will  leave  you!"  she  cried.  "You  torment 
me  more  than  I  can  endure.  It  is  not  fair.  I  will  go, 
and  somehow,  I  will  manage  for  myself." 

Putting  her  hand  on  the  carriage  door,  she  made 
a  motion  as  though  she  actually  intended  to  leap 
from  the  moving  vehicle. 

Suddenly  the  man  grew  frightened.  On  the  in- 
stant he  became  quiet,  and  dissembling  his  alarm,  he 
spoke  gravely. 

"You  can  not  go !"  he  said,  forcing  her  to  desist. 
"There  is  something  else.  Do  you  know  where  we 
are  bound  to-night?  Ah!  there  is  a  matter  on  foot 
of  deeper  import  than  you  have  guessed ;  and  if  you 
leave  me  now,  you  will  ruin  us.  Will  you  do  this 
after  my  years  of  service?  Do  nothing  rash,  noth- 


OF    REVOLUTIONARY    SAVOR       141 

ing  which  will  bring  us  before  the  eyes  of  the  au- 
thorities. Don't  start  so !  I  have  committed  no  mur- 
der, no  theft !  But  listen,  and  believe  me  when  I  tell 
you  that  it  is  of  the  most  vital  importance  that  we  re- 
main in  oblivion  for  some  weeks  yet.  Further,  I  will 
tell  you  one  thing — the  matter  to  which  J  refer,  and 
upon  which  we  are  abroad  to-night,  concerns  our 
dear  country.  More  I  can  not  say  at  present,  but  I 
know  that  this  much  will  be  sufficient  to  your  patri- 
otic soul." 

"I  will  stay,  Ricardo,"  she  replied,  startled  by  his 
intenseness.  "Indeed,  I  can  do  nothing  else.  As 
you  say,  I  have  no  money,  no  English ;  how  could  I 
go  ?  But  promise  me,  swear  once  again  that  no  mat- 
ter what  affair  may  be  engrossing  you — what  poli- 
tics, what  secret — that  you  will  not  cease  to  search 
for  him." 

"I  swear,"  said  he  eagerly. 

"For  him,  and  for  that  other,  even  more  dear," 
she  added,  her  eyes  wide  and  luminous. 

"And  the  other,"  he  repeated. 

As  though  satisfied  she  leaned  back  wearily,  and 
closed  her  eyes. 

The  cab  was  jogging  past  a  row  of  palaces  now,  a 
heterogeneous  collection,  Venetian  rubbing  shoulders 


142  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

with  Greek,  Colonial,  Elizabethian,  what  you  will; 
no  type  being  missing,  and  many  of  the  structures 
embodying  them  all  at  once.  A  motley  terrace  this, 
yet  stately  withal  and  typical  of  wealth.  Opposite, 
the  park  loomed  dark  and  silent  under  its  burden  of 
snow.  On  and  on  they  went,  and  farther  up-town 
there  began  to  be  an  occasional  gap  in  the  splendid 
row  of  houses.  Then  came  blocks  where  vacant  lots 
made  up  the  streets.  They  passed  the  old  Lenox 
Library,  mausoleum-like  and  dark;  and  later,  the 
incongruous  facade  of  the  Art  Museum.  More  and 
more  scarce  became  the  palaces,  until  finally,  when 
the  Park's  upper  end  was  almost  reached,  they  ap- 
proached a  tiny  wooden  building  only  a  single  story 
in  height,  that  stood  upon  a  corner.  At  its  back  was 
a  vacant  lot,  while  in  front  its  swinging  doors  faced 
those  of  a  gorgeous  residence,  belonging  to  one  of 
the  greatest  money-kings. 

The  little  hovel  that  imprudently  flaunted  its 
vulgar  and  humble  entrance  before  its  palatial 
neighbor's  very  eyes,  bore  the  words,  SUMMER 
GARDEN,  in  a  great  gilt  sign  upon  its  slanting 
roof  edge,  and  below  this,  like  dependant  golden 
icicles,  hung  tall  letters  which,  properly  grouped 
and  pronounced,  informed  the  passer-by  that 


OF    REVOLUTIONARY    SAVOR       143 

RUPERT'S  SPECIAL  EXTRA  BEER  could  be 
obtained  within.  The  sidewalk  before  the  hut  was 
wider  than  elsewhere,  owing  to  the  fact  of  the 
garden  being  set  far  back  between  the  converging 
ends  of  the  bill-covered  fence  that  enclosed  the  lot 
behind  it;  and  on  this  sidewalk  during  the  summer 
months,  little  beer-ringed  tables  were  set  out  for  the 
greater  accommodation  of  patrons.  At  this  season, 
however,  and  more  particularly  at  this  hour  of  night, 
the  little  building  itself  was  ample  shelter  for  such 
customers  as  were  likely  to  appear.  Over  the  screen 
of  bushes  in  their  little  wooden  boxes  hung  a  pall  of 
snow,  and  snow  was  draped  upon  the  little  canvas 
tent-sign  before  the  door,  which  displayed  the  like- 
ness of  a  foaming  mug  on  one  side,  and  of  a  plate  of 
ice-cream  on  the  other.  Around  these  misplaced 
evidences  of  summer  gaiety  the  wind  howled  dis- 
mally, making  the  poor  little  "garden"  appear 
dreary  indeed.  But  that  guests  still  lingered  inside 
was  evidenced  by  the  warm  light  streaming  through 
the  opaque  glass  of  the  crooked  little  windows,  and 
by  the  presence  beside  the  curb  of  two  cabs  without 
drivers,  the  wretched  horses,  blanketed  but  cold, 
waiting  in  patient  misery. 

To  these  waiting  ones,   Rowe's  cab   was  added, 


144  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

and  the  driver,  descending  from  the  box,  opened  the 
door  and  peered  within. 

"You'd  better  come  quickly,  Ricajdo,"  he  said. 
"It's  getting  late,  and  Mike  won't  stay  open  all 
night." 

The  lady  gave  a  little  cry  of  surprise  and  grasped 
her  companion's  arm.  Evidently  the  intrusion  of  the 
cabby  was  unexpected  by  her. 

"Who  is  it?"  she  gasped. 

"Look  close;  it  is  Sancho,  can't  you  see?"  said 
Rowe.  "He  is  here  on  that  matter  of  which  I  spoke. 
There  are  other  friends  inside,  and  I  beg  that  you 
will  enter  for  a  moment,  so  they  may  see  that  you 
are  alive  and  well.  Your  welfare  means  much  to 
them." 

"Sancho  in  America !"  the  lady  repeated  as  though 
dazed.  "Have  you  any  news?"  she  then  asked 
eagerly. 

"Come  inside,  gracious  one,"  said  the  driver. 

She  arose  to  obey. 

"Keep  your  cloak  well  about  you,"  commanded 
Rowe,  as  he  assisted  her  to  alight.  "I  have  brought 
you  here  because  it  is  not  safe  for  them  to  come  to 
us.  There  is  a  reward  out  for  Sancho,  even  now." 

They  crossed  the  pavement  and  entered  the  little 


OF    REVOLUTIONARY    SAVOR       145 

hut.  Inside  were  several  rooms,  for  the  place  was 
more  rambling  than  appeared  from  the  front;  and 
after  a  quick  greeting  of  the  rosy-cheeked  Irishman 
behind  the  bar,  they  crossed  the  sanded  floor  to  a 
smaller  apartment  beyond.  In  this  little  lean-to, 
with  its  slanting  roof  and  discolored  wall-paper, 
were  a  table  with  a  red  and  white  damask  cloth,  half 
a  dozen  common  deal  chairs,  and  a  little  round  stove, 
red  hot.  As  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  behind 
them,  the  lady,  clasping  her  hands  fearfully,  glanced 
from  one  to  the  other  of  the  men  in  manifest  anxiety. 

"What  word  have  you,  Sancho?"  she  asked  of  the 
driver,  who  had  removed  his  cap  and  muffler,  reveal- 
ing a  small  dark  face,  lined  with  evil,  which  con- 
trasted oddly  with  his  bulky  frame.  Before  reply- 
ing, the  man  glanced  at  Rowe,  as  if  for  instructions. 
Almost  imperceptibly  the  latter  shook  his  head  with- 
out being  observed  by  the  white-faced  woman. 

"None,"  said  Sancho,  "except  that  we  are  almost 
certain  that  he  is  still  alive;  our  own  government,  in 
fact,  has  communicated  with  him  recently." 

"When  did  you  come  to  America?"  she  asked, 
concealing  her  bitter  disappointment. 

"Did  you  not  know,  gracious  one?"  he  said.  "I 
came  early  in  the  fall,  before  the  abominable  snow." 


146  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"But  for  what?"  she  cried,  perplexed.  "For  what 
are  we  come  here?  Are  you  not  going  to  explain  at 
all?" 

"Come!"  interrupted  Rowe  roughly.  "You  are 
not  to  talk,  Madame.  The  walls  have  ears.  Keep 
silent,  I  beg.  We  can  not  remain  here  all  night,  and 
I  have  business  of  importance  in  the  other  room. 
Pardon  if  we  leave  you  for  a  moment.  You  are  per- 
fectly safe." 

Then,  beckoning  to  Sancho,  they  left,  closing  the 
door  with  care. 

"Is  she  with  us  ?"  asked  the  latter  as  soon  as  they 
were  outside.  Rowe  avoided  meeting  his  eyes  as  he 
spoke. 

"Certainly,"  said  he.  "Did  you  get  the  reports 
that  the  government  sent  him  last?  It  is  close  on 
two  months  since  we  have  cornered  one.  Did  you 
get  those  that  were  sent  to  him  in  the  country  ?" 

"No,"  replied  the  other.  "I  have  been  trying  to 
see  you  to  tell  you,  but  I  met  with  an  accident  and 
have  been  laid  up  with  a  broken  leg,  and  I  dared  not 
write.  To-night  is  the  first  time  I  have  been  out, 
and  I  only  came  in  response  to  your  urgent  note.  I 
failed  to  get  the  last  ones.  The  daughter  was  bring- 
ing them  from  the  post-office,  and  I  tried  to  snatch 


OF    REVOLUTIONARY    SAVOR       147 

them  from  her,  when  a  bear — a  wild  thing — sprang 
out  of  the  bushes,  and  I  made  off  without  getting 
them." 

"Leaving  the  lady  to  be  eaten,  I  suppose,"  said 
Rowe.  "Well,  it's  too  bad.  We  needed  them.  It 
must  not  occur  again." 

The  two  crossed  the  tiny  corridor  and  entered  the 
main  room  again,  going  directly  to  where  a  group  of 
men,  five  in  all,  were  seated  about  a  corner  table. 

These  persons  all  appeared  to  be  artisans  of  some 
sort,  and  by  their  dress,  none  too  prosperous.  All, 
however,  knew  Rowe,  although  they  gave  him  no 
special  greeting.  Leaning  over  in  their  midst,  he 
spoke  quickly  in  a  low  voice,  again  using  Spanish. 

"The  senora  is  here,"  he  said,  "and  has  pledged 
herself  to  our  cause,  as  I  promised  you  she  would  do. 
She  will  receive  you  all  in  token  of  her  pledge,  but 
do  not  talk  too  much  to  her,  as  she  is  ill,  having 
fainted  earlier  in  the  evening,  and  is  also  agitated 
at  this  adventure.  She  has  come  to  you,  as  you  see, 
at  great  risk  to  her  reputation.  Let  us  spare  her  as 
much  as  possible." 

There  were  murmurs  of  assent,  and  Yznaga,  who 
was  one  of  the  men,  spoke  up. 

"There  are  some  estimates,"  he  said,  "which   I 


148  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

brought  this  evening.  We  can  secure  a  fat  bit  of 
graft  from  the  Maxman  Arms  Company,  as  well  as 
getting  the  inventory  as  soon  as  he  pays  for  it." 

"Have  you  them  here?"  said  Rowe.  "Let  me  see." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  man,  fumbling  about  in  his 
breast  pocket.  "Here  they  are.  Sit  down  a  minute 
and  look  at  them.  We  shall  all  have  to  go  directly 
we  have  seen  her.  Mike  will  be  closing  up." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  Mikey  must  sleep  some  time," 
agreed  Rowe,  slipping  into  a  chair.  "And,  Yznaga, 
I  wouldn't  wear  that  tuxedo  on  this  kind  of  an  ex- 
cursion again.  When  you  opened  your  coat  just 
then,  it  was  a  sight  to  provoke  curiosity." 

All  this  was  said  in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  but  the 
men  about  the  table  laughed  at  it.  Rowe,  who  was 
himself  very  inconspicuously,  even  shabbily  dressed, 
stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  little  packet  of  papers 
that  the  man  he  had  just  reproved  offered  him. 
Evidently,  the  pseudo-friend  of  Senora  Daussa  was 
the  leader  among  these  men.  With  quick  interest  he 
spread  the  documents,  a  martial  list  of  rifles  and  am- 
munition, upon  the  table,  and  at  once  all  seven  heads 
were  bent  over  them,  the  talk  sinking  to  a  humming, 
scarcely  audible  three  feet  away. 


OF    REVOLUTIONARY    SAVOR       149 

It  was  a  curious  room  in  which  they  sat,  and  save 
for  themselves  it  was  almost  empty.  Across  one  side 
ran  the  bar,  a  machine-carved  mahogany  atrocity 
with  shining  foot-rail  and  glass-covered  counter, 
behind  which  ran  a  large  mirror  topped  by  an  ob- 
scene picture.  Other  mirrors  with  gilt  fly-specked 
frames  were  let  into  the  three  remaining  walls,  and 
at  least  six  almanacs  with  colored  embossed  decora- 
tions hung  about.  Several  chromos  of  ladies  in 
fleshings  and  spangles  further  adorned  the  walls, 
and  the  cigar  stand  was  decorated  by  an  immense 
photograph  of  a  well-known  burlesque  actress,  clad 
chiefly  in  a  brilliant  smile,  with  a  quotation  from  her 
most  noted  song  printed  below.  "I  don't  care!"  it 
read,  and  in  truth  one  could  readily  believe  she 
didn't  Advertisements  depended  from  a  little  show- 
case in  which  some  souvenirs  were  displayed  and 
near  this  hung  a  wooden  rack  filled  with  postal  cards 
on  which  were  pictured  every  imaginable  subject 
from  the  likeness  of  the  Metropolitan  Tower  to  an 
obviously  sham  love  incident  in  harsh  colors.  But 
these  were  relics  of  the  past  summer,  and  would  not 
come  into  use  again  until  several  months  had  passed, 
when  a  small  freckle-faced  boy,  a  son  of  the  estab- 


150  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

lishment,  would  peddle  them  to  the  passengers  who 
rode  atop  the  electric  busses  that  ply  up  and  down 
the  avenue. 

Meanwhile,  where  in  summer  an  arch  (trimmed 
even  now  with  artificial  flowers)  led  to  the  scrawny 
"garden"  in  the  rear  lot,  a  stove  had  been  erected,  a 
hideous  affair  with  brass  trimmings,  in  which  the 
fire  was  now  dying  down  to  a  glowing  mass  of 
embers.  About  the  floor  stood  a  dozen  tables  with 
common  cane-bottom  chairs  grouped  around  them. 
Altogether  the  place  was  far  from  festive  in  appear- 
ance, and  the  observer  would  have  been  tempted  into 
doubting  whether  even  the  gladness  of  summer  could 
shed  a  glamour  upon  it. 

Behind  the  bar  sat  Mike,  adding  up  his  accounts. 
He  was  both  owner  and  barkeeper,  and  by  the  grace 
of  the  landlord  on  whose  property  he  squatted  and 
who  found  Mikey  a  useful  man,  he  prospered  very 
fairly.  A  burly  young  Irishman  was  Mike,  with  an 
innocent  open  expression  that  concealed  an  ocean 
of  guile.  He  was  in  politics  of  more  than  one  kind, 
and  his  bar  often  saw  a  gathering  of  those  whose 
names  represented  an  alarming  per  cent,  of  the  coun- 
try's wealth,  and  would  have  set  a  socially  ambitious 
hostess  to  longing.  But  Mikey  was  not  ambitious 


OF   REVOLUTIONARY    SAVOR       151 

socially.  He  had  no  cause  to  be,  seeing  as  he  did,  a 
very  intimate  side  of  these  men,  and  even  being  on 
terms  of  pet  names  with  them,  notwithstanding  that 
they  did  not  bow  to  him  on  the  street. 

But  to-night,  however  satisfactory  his  reckonings, 
the  hour  was  becoming  unconscionably  late.  From 
his  ledger  he  glanced  at  the  wide  pasty  face  of  the 
clock  opposite,  and  then  at  the  group  at  the  largest 
table.  Would  they  never  go  home?  Their  glasses 
were  empty.  Then  suddenly,  as  one  man,  they  arose 
and  following  Rowe  (who  was  friend  to  Mikey  by 
virtue  of  a  fifty-dollar  bill),  went  to  the  inner  room. 
They  did  not  enter,  but  stood  at  the  door.  Mikey 
strained  his  ears  to  hear  the  lady  speak,  but  what- 
ever greeting  she  uttered  was  said  in  so  low  a  voice 
as  not  to  be  articulate  from  where  he  sat.  Then  the 
man  who  had  produced  the  paper  spoke. 

"We  shall  not  disturb  you,  Senora,"  he  said,  "for 
you  are  fatigued.  We  merely  wish  to  pay  you  our 
homage  and  assure  you  of  our  fidelity." 

Again  that  low  murmur,  and  then,  one  by  one,  all 
bowed  and  left  save  Rowe  and  the  cab  driver,  who 
entered  the  little  room,  closing  the  door  after  them. 

"Aw,  some  funny  things  happens,"  said  Mikey, 


152  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

not  however,  with  any  special  reference  to  humor. 
He  stretched  himself  and  yawned.  "They'll  be  go- 
ing in  a  minute,"  he  added  presently.  "Glory  be, 
they  are  the  last." 

Suddenly  he  stopped,  remembering  a  couple  who 
were  seated  in  the  semi-obscurity  by  the  stove. 
Earlier  in  the  evening  these  two  and  their  bear  had 
entertained  the  then  crowded  saloon,  and  though  the 
throng  had  grown  steadily  less,  and  the  coins  fewer, 
they  had  lingered,  loath  to  be  turned  out  into  the 
storm.  Also  they  had  bought,  so  Mikey  let  them  re- 
main, and  now  the  woman,  an  ancient  soul,  pic- 
turesque and  haggard,  had  fallen  asleep  where  she 
sat,  overcome  perhaps  by  her  last  glass  of  rum.  As 
she  lay  back,  her  head  resting  on  the  hard  rim  of  the 
chair,  her  mouth  partly  open,  she  looked  like  a  ver- 
itable incarnation  of  the  tragic  and  terrible  essence 
of  life.  Yet  there  was  something  pitiable,  even  lik- 
able in  that  curious  old  face  with  its  lace-like  net- 
work of  wrinkles ;  and  her  deep  breathing  was  regu- 
lar and  peaceful  as  a  child's.  On  closer  examination, 
Mikey  decided  that  her  sleep  was  that  of  exhaustion, 
not  a  drunken  stupor  as  he  had  at  first  supposed. 

Her  companion  was  a  man  of  perhaps  thirty-five, 
unshaven,  shabby  in  a  suit  of  clothing  that  had 


OF    REVOLUTIONARY    SAVOR       153 

originally  been  of  faultless  cut  and  style.  Under 
his  soft  hat,  his  eyes,  keen  as  gimlets,  tolerant,  inter- 
ested, impersonal,  watched,  now  the  old  woman,  now 
the  door  of  the  little  inner  room.  He  had  a  debonair 
carriage,  as  though  he  had  touched  life's  realities 
without  fear,  and  handled  its  sorrows  as  a  strong 
man  does. 

It  was  Sam  Hill,  but  Hill  so  stripped  of  smugness, 
so  shorn  of  vanity,  and  so  sensitive  to  the  true  con- 
text of  his  environment,  that  his  friends  would  have 
been  hard  put  to  recognize  him.  At  his  feet  lay 
Mr.  Jones,  the  bear,  asleep,  and  between  his  teeth  he 
clutched  a  short  blackened  pipe  of  clay.  On  the  ta- 
ble at  his  hand  a  liqueur-glass  of  brandy  stood  un- 
touched. To  himself  he  was  saying,  apropos  of 
Rowe:  "Now  who  the  deuce  is  that  man?  Where 
have  I  seen  his  rascally  face  before?"  Then  Mikey 
advanced. 

"You'll  have  to  get  out  of  this,  you  two/'  he  said 
sharply;  "come  on  now,  rouse  up  and  be  off  with 
you!" 

Without  otherwise  moving,  Hill  took  up  his  glass 
and  drained  it. 

"You've  a  snug  berth  here,"  said  he.  "Why  not 
let  us  sleep  the  night  by  your  stove?  It's  snowing 


154  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

now,  and  we  are  honest  folk.     You'll  find  nothing 
missing  in  the  morning." 

"That's  a  good  one,"  laughed  Mikey.  "Let  you 
sleep  here,  indeed !  I  guess  not!  Come  on  now,  old 
lady,  wake  up  and  shuffle." 

He  was  about  to  lay  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder 
when  Sam  gripped  his  forearm  and  gently  pushed 
him  aside.  Astonished  at  his  guest's  strength,  the 
husky  Irishman  stepped  back,  and  watched  while 
Hill  gently  awoke  the  old  woman. 

"Awake,  Nita,"  said  Hill.  "Come,  little  blossom 
of  the  bramble-vine,  our  host  is  giving  us  God- 
speed." 

Quickly  she  was  awake,  regaining  consciousness 
with  that  speed  which  is  a  faculty  of  those  who  are 
old.  With  a  grotesque  gesture  she  straightened  the 
handkerchief  upon  her  head,  and  gathering  her 
shawl  about  her  with  one  hand,  she  stretched  the 
other  across  the  table  to  her  glass. 

"Oh,  my  immortal  soul !"  she  muttered,  "just  an- 
other little  drop  to  keep  out  the  cold,  my  handsome 
boy." 

"Nix,"  said  the  barkeeper,  "out  you  go.  This 
place  is  going  to  bed." 

"May  you  burn  in  eternal  fires,  even  as  I  shall," 


OF    REVOLUTIONARY    SAVOR       155 

she  quavered  angrily,  struggling  to  her  feet.  "And 
God  have  mercy  on  you  if  you  do,  for  I  am  a  great 
sinner." 

This,  being  uttered  in  Spanish,  was  lost  upon 
Mikey,  who  understood,  however,  from  the  tone  in 
which  the  pleasing  sentiment  was  uttered,  that  it 
was  far  from  complimentary.  Pulling  the  table  to 
one  side,  he  gave  the  still  somnolent  Mr.  Jones  a 
kick  that  awoke  him  to  no  gentle  mood,  and  pock- 
eting the  money  that  Hill  laid  in  his  hand,  he  again 
bade  them  begone.  With  much  grumbling  Old  Nita 
started  for  the  door,  which  was  at  the  opposite  end 
of  the  apartment,  and  beyond  that  leading  into  the 
small  room  into  which  Rowe  had  led  his  friends. 
Still  puzzling  about  the  appearance  of  the  former, 
Hill  buttoned  his  coat  about  him,  and  gathered  up 
the  bear-pole  and  chain,  preparatory  to  following 
her.  Who  the  deuce  was  that  man — ah! — no,  it 
could  not  be — yes,  by  Jove,  it  was,  though!  One 
of  his  tenants  with  whom  he  had  scarcely  spoken. 
A  fellow  who  lived  below  the  studio.  He  put  a  sup- 
porting hand  beneath  Old  Nita's  elbow.  One  by  one 
the  lights  were  being  extinguished  by  Mikey,  till 
only  a  single  lantern  burned  near  the  exit. 

"Hurry  up,  now!"  admonished  the  proprietor. 


156  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Going,  Ireland;  good  night,"  responded  Hill 
smoothly. 

Just  then  the  door  to  the  little  inner  room  was 
opened  and  three  figures,  one  of  them  the  woman's, 
hooded  and  veiled,  appeared  directly  in  their  path. 

"How  much,  Mike?"  said  Rowe,  stepping  for- 
ward. Then  he  caught  sight  of  the  old  woman,  and 
stood  for  an  instant  as  though  transfixed  with 
alarm.  At  the  same  moment  she  saw  his  face,  and 
her  own  became  livid.  Rage,  fear,  and  hate  were 
lurking  there,  and  shaking  herself  free  of  Hill,  she 
sprang  for  Rowe,  her  old  hands  curled  like  the 
claws  of  some  vicious  bird  of  prey. 

"Devil!"  she  screamed,  "have  I  found  thee  at 
last?" 

With  an  oath  Rowe  fended  her  off,  his  forearm 
striking  her  a  stunning  blow,  and  then,  quick  as  a 
cat,  he  overturned  the  last  remaining  lamp,  and, 
seizing  the  veiled  lady,  pushed  to  the  outer  door, 
Sancho,  who  also  seemed  to  recognize  the  old  wom- 
an, preceding  and  opening  it  hastily.  Old  Nita, 
stunned  by  the  blow,  fell  to  the  floor,  while  Hill 
sprang  at  Rowe — but  too  late.  For  a  fleeting  instant 
the  Spaniard's  face  could  be  seen,  sardonic,  un- 
earthly, in  the  white  light  from  the  street,  before 


OF    REVOLUTIONARY    SAVOR       157 

he  slammed  the  heavy  door  to,  catching  Hill  on  the 
jaw  with  the  edge  of  it.  Then  he  was  gone  with  his 
companions,  while  over  the  dark  turmoil  and  confu- 
sion in  the  bar  lingered  the  echo  of  a  laugh,  mirth- 
less beyond  description. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  LADY  OF  MYSTERY 

WRAPPED  in  a  brilliant  yellow  bath-robe, 
Pedro  was  finishing  breakfast.  Having 
perched  himself  upon  a  high  stool,  he  broke  the 
rind  of  an  orange  with  the  tip  of  a  palette  knife, 
while  staring  contemplatively  at  a  half-finished  can- 
vas— one  of  the  many  with  which  the  room  was 
littered.  Then  he  ate  pensively,  and  when  he  had 
finished,  lighted  a  cigarette  and  opened  the  morning 
paper.  From  the  front  page  sprang  a  piece  of  news 
that  fairly  made  him  jump.  The  head-line  bore 
his  own  name. 

NOTED  SPANISH  PAINTER  HERE 

SIG.  PEDRO  HAS  TAKEN  S.  J.  HILL'S  STUDIO  FOR 

THE  WINTER.  To  PAINT  CITY  AS  IT  Is. 

This  was  the  caption,  after  which  followed  an  in- 
terview with  himself,  based  upon  what  he  had  said 
to  Pell,  the  young  reporter,  the  night  before,  but 
considerably  embellished  by  that  gentleman's  own 
imagination.  For  several  moments  the  reader  was 

158 


THE    LADY    OF    MYSTERY  159 

quite  overcome  with  amusement.  He,  Pedro,  the  im- 
pertinent, the  unknown,  the  mere  student,  thus  ad- 
vertised, thus  hauled  to  fame !  In  writing  the  arti- 
cle, Pell  had  assumed  the  same  sort  of  knowledge  on 
the  part  of  his  readers  that  he  had  himself  assumed. 
Thus,  upon  nothing,  he  had  built  the  foundations  of 
a  reputation. 

The  lad  laughed,  and  spreading  the  paper  open 
before  him  on  the  table,  lighted  another  cigarette 
and  admired  his  name  in  print.  He  was  in  excellent 
company,  the  column  to  his  left  being  occupied  by 
a  famous  millionaire  and  the  young  lady  to  whom 
the  latter  was  pledged,  and  the  column  to  his  right 
being  filled  with  the  wool-bill,  surrounded  by  clam- 
oring senators  and  department  heads.  Below  him, 
at  the  foot  of  the  column,  appeared  a  very  short  no- 
tice in  small  type  to  the  effect  that  nine  coal-miners 
had  been  killed  in  an  explosion  in  Nebraska — 
a  mere  detail  of  news,  distant,  and  of  no  im- 
portance in  comparison  with  the  really  significant 
events  that  appeared  in  capitals  at  the  page's  top. 
With  a  quick  breath,  Pedro  turned  the  sheet  hastily. 
Beau-Jean  had  once  been  a  miner,  and  his  tales  of 
the  inferno  in  which  he  had  labored  came  too  viv- 
idly to  mind. 


i6o  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

He  glanced  carelessly  at  that  portion  of  the  news- 
paper wherein  there  appear  the  society  notes,  ac- 
counts of  expensive  entertainments,  theatrical  criti- 
cisms, and  death  notices,  side  by  side.  He  saw  that 
a  great  writer  had  died  intestate,  and  that  a  new 
opera  singer  liked  America;  that  a  hyphenated  soci- 
ety lady  had  fed  her  kind  so  fully  that  she  had 
been  forced  to  make  them  dance  afterward,  in  order 
that  they  might  digest  what  her  cook  had  spent 
hours  in  making  indigestible.  He  informed  him- 
self, also,  as  to  the  movements  of  several  peoples  on 
several  streets,  neither  of  which  he  (nor  any  one 
else)  had  ever  heard  of  before;  and  learned  that  a 
pet  dog  had  won  a  prize.  Moreover,  it  appeared 
that  some  folk  had  been  married — eight  in  fact, 
and  one  had  actually  been  born ! 

Strange  erratic  world ! 

Then  an  item  of  personal  interest  caught  his  crit- 
ical eye.  Samuel  J.  Hill,  the  eminent  portrait- 
painter,  whose  engagement  to  Miss  Iris  Vanderpool, 
the  Asphalt  King's  daughter,  had  been  persistently 
rumored,  had  gone  south  for  the  winter;  and  it 
would  appear  that  the  engagement,  if  any  such  ex- 
isted, had  been  broken,  for  reasons  unknown.  The 
lady  was  to  remain  in  town  for  the  season.  The 


THE    LADY    OF    MYSTERY  161 

paper  thought  that  this  news  would  be  of  wide  in- 
terest, both  to  society  and  artistic  circles,  as  an  an- 
nouncement had  been  fully  expected. 

Again  appeared  Signer  Pedro  (C.  E.  Pedro, 
this  time,  for  reason  unguessable),  who  had  taken 
his  confrere's  studio  for  an  indefinite  term. 

Pedro  put  the  paper  down  and  gave  his  yellow 
robe  an  extra  fold  about  him  before  sinking  into  a 
reverie. 

Ah !  this  explained  much— Hill's  sudden  anxiety 
to  leave  town,  his  unhappiness,  his  reckless  generos- 
ity to  the  first  needy  stranger  whom  he  met.  These 
two  had  some  silly  quarrel,  perhaps.  It  could  not 
have  really  been  so  serious  as  they  apparently  made 
it.  Why,  never  were  two  people  more  ideally  suited 
to  each  other,  or  he,  Pedro,  was  no  judge!  The 
dismissal  was  given  by  her,  of  course,  and  Hill  was 
saddened  to  the  point  of  desperation.  And  in  the 
meanwhile  what  had  he,  himself,  done!  Heavens! 
Last  night,  what  had  he  said  to  her?  What  would 
she  think?  How  would  his  sentimentalism  appear? 
It  had  none  too  pleasant  an  aspect  in  the  light  of 
his  present  discovery.  The  beloved  of  his  friend 
— the  friend  who  had  done  everything  for  him — 
who  had  benefited  him  beyond  any!  What  a  trai- 


1 62  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

tor  he  would  appear!  Of  course,  his  love-making 
was  the  merest  joke — nothing  but  a  pretty  game, 
played  in  an  idle  moment ;  and  when  he  started  it 
he  had  not  known  it  was  she  who  lay  at  the  root 
and  source  of  his  adventure!  His  love-making! 
He  almost  laughed  aloud  at  the  thought  of  it.  Why, 
it  was  only  in  fun.  And  undoubtedly  the  Madonna 
Lady  had  understood  it  so.  For  surely  she  was  a 
practised  coquette.  He  had  deduced  this  from  her 
slightest  gesture,  her  lightest  movement,  which  he 
foresaw  and  could  have  predicted  to  the  instant  of 
its  happening.  Oh,  come  now!  It  was  impossible 
that  she  was  serious !  It  was  quite  useless  for  her  to 
be  so,  at  any  rate.  Pedro  was  no  lover  for  her. 

At  the  thought  he  laughed  merrily. 

But  Hill  could  not  know  that.  Suppose  the  paint- 
er were  to  hear  of  his,  Pedro's,  attentions  to  Miss 
VanderpooH  And  hear  he  might,  for  he  had  not 
gone  south  as  yet.  Old  Nita  had  written  Pedro  a 
letter  in  badly  spelled  Spanish,  explaining  that 
though  none  of  them  would  come  near  him  while  he 
was  making  his  career,  for  fear  of  injuring  his 
prestige,  they  would  not  be  far  away  and  would  be 
watching  over  him  so  as  to  be  on  hand  in  time  of 
need.  How  they  would  know  if  he  were  in  trouble 


THE    LADY    OF    MYSTERY  163 

she  did  not  say,  but  Pedro  entirely  believed  in  her 
power  to  succor  him  if  necessary.  Hill  was  with 
her,  and  by  the  freemasonry  of  the  underworld,  or 
even  by  the  newspapers,  Hill  might  learn  of  his 
prot^ge^s  actions. 

Well,  now  that  the  little  society  item  had  revealed 
the  true  state  of  affairs,  there  would  be  no  more  flirt- 
ing, that  was  assured.  But  a  friendship  was  surely 
another  matter.  He  liked  her  so  much !  Next  to 
Leigh,  she  appealed  to  him  more  than  any  of  his 
new  acquaintances.  He  really  must  get  to  know 
her  better.  Then  there  was  that  exquisite  line  of 
her  throat;  he  simply  must  paint  it — a  real  Ma- 
donna, with  blue  draperies  about  her  head — a  leaf 
out  of  the  book  of  the  old  masters,  yet  quick  with 
life.  A  Madonna  of  flesh  and  blood,  far  from 
ascetic!  Ah!  yes,  they  would  be  friends,  and  he 
would  ask  her  to  pose.  But  no  more  of  that  silly 
game  of  love.  Caramba!  It  was  nothing  but  a  joke, 
the  veriest  farce  in  the  world.  She,  too,  must  be 
laughing  at  it  by  now;  that  was  a  comfort.  And 
poor  Hill!  How  wretched  he  had  been — was  still, 
in  all  probability.  For  the  conviction  that  Sam 
loved  the  beautiful  lady  truly  was  not  to  be  dis- 
lodged. Well,  the  waif,  the  stray  one,  would  prove 


1 64  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

a  valiant  friend  to  both  of  them.  The  saints  be 
praised !  he  might  serve  them. 

Just  as  he  reached  this  amiable  conclusion  the 
studio  door  was  flung  open  to  admit  the  vivacious 
figure  of  a  young  woman,  all  gold  and  pink  and 
white,  from  her  fluffy  head  to  the  hem  of  her  frilled 
apron  of  lawn.  A  Dresden  vision,  not  quite  pretty, 
but  very  charming,  young  and  debonair.  She  wore 
no  hat,  and  in  her  hand  she  carried  a  couple  of 
checked  towels,  such  as  are  used  for  the  drying  of 
dishes. 

This  young  person  was  Miss  Cassie  Goodell,  from 
the  floor  below — the  young  lady  of  the  violets. 

"Mornin',  Pedro,"  she  greeted  him.  "I've  come 
to  do  your  rooms." 

"Impertinent!"  he  gasped,  closing  the  door  be- 
hind her.  "How  many  times  have  I  told  you  to 
knock  before  entering,  eh?" 

"As  often  as  I  come  up!"  she  admitted,  making 
a  raid  upon  the  cigarettes. 

"Some  day  you  may  be  sorry!"  he  warned  her. 
"Suppose  I  were  not  clothed  ?" 

"Lord  bless  you,  Pedro  dear,"  she  replied  amus- 
edly, "I  shouldn't  die  of  the  shock,  having  posed 
in  a  pleasant  smile  myself  for  over  five  years." 


THE    LADY   OF    MYSTERY  165 

"Well,  you  knock  next  time!"  he  said  excitedly. 
"/  care,  if  you  don't" 

She  paused  in  her  occupation  of  gathering  up  the 
table  silver. 

"I  used  to,"  she  said  in  a  queer  voice,  "but  I 
don't  any  more.  And  I  don't  even  mind  not  being 
able  to  care,  worse  luck !" 

But  Pedro  did  not  hear  her,  even  though  the  sud- 
den silence  in  which  she  stood  should  have  attracted 
his  attention.  He  was  examining  the  unfinished 
canvas  on  the  easel,  wholly  absorbed  by  it.  The 
girl  threw  back  her  head,  as  though  shaking  off 
something,  and  began  her  work  anew,  whistling 
softly  the  while. 

Her  task  was  plainly  a  familiar  one  and  her  exe- 
cution of  it  surprisingly  deft.  There  was  a  tiny 
kitchenette  between  the  bathroom  and  studio,  and 
this  was  scrupulously  clean,  owing  to  her  care. 
Each  article  had  its  ordained  spot,  and  she  put  it 
there  with  swift  hands,  almost  unconsciously  accom- 
plishing the  labor  while  her  mind  was  on  other 
matters. 

One  day,  now  almost  two  months  since,  she  had 
come  up-stairs  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  new 
artist  in  Hill's  quarters — the  acquaintance  of  the 


166  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

charming  young  man  to  whom  she  had  thrown  her 
violets  on  the  day  of  his  arrival.  She  had  found 
him  immersed  in  work,  while  a  few  late  flies, 
brought  to  life  by  the  odor  of  food,  buzzed  about  a 
neglected  table.  Her  host  had  not  noticed  her  en- 
trance. Surprised,  she  had  stood  watching  him,  his 
serious  young  face  wrapt  in  an  ecstasy  of  striving, 
and  then,  perceiving  that  to  speak  would  be  a  sac- 
rilege, and  to  leave  the  table  as  it  was,  a  crying 
shame  upon  her  femininity,  she  had  silently  set 
about  cleaning  it,  still  unnoticed  by  Pedro.  Later, 
on  the  occasion  of  that  first  visit,  they  had  talked, 
and  he  had  engaged  her  to  pose,  but  although 
nothing  was  said  about  her  voluntary  labors,  from 
that  time  on,  she,  instinctively  knowing  that  he 
needed  her  care,  had  come  each  morning  and  put 
his  place  to  rights,  though  as  a  rule  he  forgot  she 
was  there. 

She  finished  with  the  dishes  and  set  herself  to 
making  the  bed,  after,  as  usual,  vainly  searching 
for  toilet  articles  to  put  away.  As  ever,  she  mar- 
veled anew  at  the  nicety  with  which  his  personal  be- 
longings were  kept  in  contrast  to  his  shabby  house- 
keeping. Everything  was  already  in  order  in  the 
bedroom;  the  bureau  was  immaculate,  and  for  the 


THE    LADY    OF    MYSTERY  167 

greater  part  filled  with  Hill's  garments,  none  of 
which  Pedro  had  ever  used.  She  soon  finished  what 
there  was  to  do  and  returned  to  the  studio,  just  paus- 
ing to  prink  a  bit  before  the  mirror.  As  she  entered, 
Pedro  beckoned  to  her. 

"Hold  out  your  arm  a  minute,  Cassie,"  he  bade 
her,  speaking  without  coming  out  of  his  absorption. 
"No !  So :  the  shoulder  a  little  higher.  That's  it !" 

Then  he  worked  violently  for  a  few  moments. 

"Pedro,"  she  remarked  presently,  "do  you  like 
my  arm  very  much?" 

No  answer. 

"Gil  Foster  says  it's  the  best  looking  forearm  in 
the  city,"  she  volunteered. 

No  answer.  He  was  too  much  absorbed  to  listen. 
Indeed,  he  might  have  been  deaf.  The  picture  was 
coming  out  right,  and  nothing  else  mattered.  A 
lock  of  hair  fell  across  his  eyes,  and  in  brushing  it 
back  he  left  a  brown  smudge  upon  his  nose. 

"You're  a  funny  one,"  she  commented.  "Nary  a 
compliment  do  you  hand  out;  yet  you  ain't  a  bad 
sport  by  any  means.  Think  maybe  I'll  learn  a  psalm 
to  sing  while  I  sit  for  you ;  that  might  make  a  hit. 
More  in  your  line,  I  guess." 

Then  she,  too,  fell  silent  for  a  little  while,  look- 


1 68  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

ing  about  her  at  the  familiar  objects  almost  with  an 
air  of  proprietorship.  Had  she  not  dusted  them  un- 
til her  care  would  seem  to  give  her  some  claim  upon 
them,  if  not  upon  the  tenant  in  their  midst?  Cassie 
was  in  a  talkative  mood  this  morning. 

"Gil  is  awful  fresh,"  she  began  naively.  "We 
went  to  Beer  Peter's  last  night  to  eat.  Say,  he 
bought  the  best!  I've  been  posing  for  him  three 
times  lately  and  now  I  guess  I'll  have  to  cut  it  out. 
He's  married,  and  I  won't  stand  no  nonsense." 

Still  unmoved,  Pedro  worked  on,  his  silence  mak- 
ing the  girl's  words  fall  the  louder  in  the  great  bar- 
ren room ;  and  to  her  own  ears  they  sounded  strange- 
ly coarse.  What  had  she  said  that  for?  Didn't  it 
sound  fierce,  though? 

"Say,  I  often  think  of  that  first  day,  when  I  threw 
the  violets,"  she  said  rather  softly ;  "do  you  remem- 
ber?" 

Pedro  heard  this,  because  he  had  just  finished 
what  he  was  working  at. 

"Rest,"  he  said,  then :  "That's  all.  I'm  not  going 
to  work  this  morning.  I've  got  an  engagement  for 
the  noon  meal.  What  were  you  saying?" 

"I — I  was  talking  about  the  day  you  looked  up  at 


THE    LADY    OF    MYSTERY          169 

my   window   and  said — and  said — 'I   love   you.'  ' 
Her  eyes  twinkled  as  she  spoke. 

Pedro  responded  instantly. 

"Ha!  ha!"  he  laughed;  "yes,  I  remember.  Do 
you  know,  I  was  talking  to  the  house;  I  didn't  see 
you  till  you  laughed !  Ha !  ha !" 

"Then  you  didn't  mean  it  for  me?"  she  teased, 
pouting  a  little. 

"Of  course  not!"  he  responded  cheerfully. 
"Here,  stand  still  again  for  a  minute,  while  I  sketch 
in  that  corner  of  your  shoulder.  This  composition 
just  needs  it  to  balance.  .  .  .  There!  That's 
all!" 

She  turned  to  go,  gathering  up  her  gaily  checked 
dish-cloths.  At  the  door  she  paused. 

"Is  she  a  good-looker,  the  lady  you're  going  to 
lunch  with?"  she  asked  mischievously. 

He  wheeled  toward  her  in  surprise. 

"Ah !  I  did  not  say  I  was  going  to  lunch  with  a 
lady!"  he  exclaimed. 

"So  she  is  pretty,"  said  Cassie,  with  a  pseudo-mel- 
ancholy sigh.  "Ah,  me !" 

Then  she  was  gone,  closing  the  door  softly  be- 
hind her. 


1 70  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Hum!"  said  Pedro,  staring  at  the  floor.  "I  in- 
vited that !  I  must  be  becoming  as  awkward  as  a — 

Here  he  stopped  abruptly;  put  a  hand  upon  his 
lips,  warning  himself  to  silence ;  took  away  the  hand ; 
found  it  streaked  with  brown  paint,  and  straightway 
fell  to  washing  his  besmirched  countenance  with 
soap  powder  of  a  peculiarly  cleansing  sort. 

An  hour  later  he  was  sitting  down  to  "the  noon 
meal"  with  Iris. 

"For,"  she  said,  "father  is  never  punctual ;  if  we 
waited  for  him  we  might  wait  until  night." 

In  the  cold  light  of  day,  and  in  the  more  formal 
setting  of  her  own  house,  Iris  was  rinding  it  some- 
what difficult  to  continue  the  romantic  impetuous 
atmosphere  which  had  come  so  naturally  in  the 
semi-darkness  of  the  Milligans'  balcony.  Then, 
too,  Pedro  was  somewhat  less  responsive.  He  was 
very  courteous,  but  a  little  reserved.  Furthermore, 
it  was  proving  almost  impossible  to  question  him 
about  himself  as  she  had  wished.  The  morning  pa- 
per had  given  her  the  same  news  that  had  so  much 
amused  the  boy,  and,  remembering  her  first  en- 
counter with  him,  she  was  greatly  at  a  loss  as  to 
who  and  what  he  might  be.  Was  he  an  impostor, 


THE    LADY    OF    MYSTERY  171 

an  adventurer,  or  an  eccentric?  He  might  easily  be 
either,  but  whatever  he  was,  he  fascinated  her  be- 
yond any  of  her  acquaintances.  Indeed,  she  had  be- 
gun to  consider  him  even  more  tenderly.  Then 
there  was  that  miniature  in  her  father's  desk! 
Where  had  it  come  from?  Was  it  of  Pedro?  So 
many  mysteries  were  enough  even  to  overcome  that 
edict  of  etiquette  which  bade  one  conquer  curiosity. 
She  really  must  know  about  him,  even  at  cost  of 
seeming  curious. 

"Were  you  born  in  Spain?"  she  asked. 

"No,"  said  he.  "Have  you  seen  De  Bush's  ex- 
hibition at  Knoedler's  gallery  yet?" 

"Not  yet,"  she  replied;  "I  suppose  you  know  all 
the  galleries  well.  Or  haven't  you  been  here  be- 
fore?" 

"This  is  my  first  visit  to  New  York,"  he  replied, 
and  then,  as  she  was  about  to  speak  again,  he  held 
up  his  hand,  frankly  stopping  her  and  looking 
straight  into  her  eyes. 

"Madonna,  I  beg  that  we  talk  of  something  else 
than  myself,"  he  continued.  "These  pictures  of  De 
Bush's  par  example.  You  must  go  to  them.  He 
is  wonderful  as  an  interpreter  either  of  character  or 
personality." 


i;2  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Very  well,"  said  she,  not  looking  at  him,  for  she 
was  piqued  at  the  purely  friendly  unsentimental 
glance  with  which  he  had  returned  her  somewhat 
languishing  one,  "we  shall  talk  of  what  you  suggest. 
Which  do  you  consider  the  more  important  ?  Which 
is  the  more  vital — character  or  personality  ?" 

"Can  you  have  one  without  the  other,  Madonna?" 

"Undoubtedly.  The  veriest  bore,  who  gives  one 
no  clue  to  his  individual  soul,  may  have  a  splendid 
character  or  the  reverse;  embodying  all  the  virtues, 
or  all  the  vices,  without  your  being  aware  of  it." 

"Would  not  the  vices  stick  out  a  little  so  that 
you'd  know  they  were  there?"  suggested  Pedro. 
"The  virtues,  I  grant  you ;  they  would  be  overlooked 
and  probably  leave  no  mark  upon  the  face." 

She  laughed  at  this. 

"Yes,"  she  admitted,  "that  is  true,  but  personality 
makes  itself  felt,  whether  or  no." 

"And  does  not  have  dependence  upon  any  vir- 
tue," said  he,  "nor  need  its  possessor  speak,  tv 
savis!" 

"Exactly,"  she  asserted.  "Which  do  you  consider 
more  important?" 

"In  our  servants,  the  character,"  said  he;  "in  our 
friends,  the  personality.  Me,  I  sicken  of  a  bore." 


THE    LADY    OF    MYSTERY  173 

"Then  you  relegate  all  the  virtues  to  the  lower 
classes?"  she  inquired. 

"There  are  no  lower  classes,  Senorita,"  he  re- 
plied, "and,  perhaps,  too,  we  would  differ  on  our — 
er — what  you  call— our  definition  of  virtue.  For 
example,  I  consider  it  a  sin  to  be  a  bore." 

"What  a  difficult  creed!"  she  cried.  "At  that 
rate  think  of  the  thousands  who  would  suffer  dam- 
nation !" 

"And  why  not?"  he  demanded.  "A  thief  who 
steals  your  purse,  steals  trash,  as  the  English 
Shakespeare  has  written.  Very  true,  but  he  who 
holds  an  active  brain  in  thraldom,  while  droning 
forth  matter  of  little  sense  and  of  no  moment,  steals 
your  immortal  soul,  than  which  there  surely  can  be 
no  greater  crime." 

"I  agree  with  you!"  she  cried.  "Oh!  I  do,  in- 
deed." 

Suddenly  she  smiled  a  little. 

"Is  it  sufficiently  abstract?"  she  asked,  her  eyes 
full  of  meaning. 

With  a  quick  motion,  he  handed  her  an  olive. 

"Try  one  of  these,"  he  suggested. 

How  he  avoided  the  personal!  It  seemed  as 
though  he  feared  it  above  everything,  and  detecting 


174  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

the  approach  of  an  intimate  note,  changed  the  theme 
at  once. 

"I  have  a  curious  sketch  of  Leigh's  with  me,"  he 
said,  changing  the  subject  determinedly;  "would 
you  care  to  see  it?" 

"Oh!  yes,  I  like  that  man — Leigh,  although  he 
never  pays  the  slightest  attention  to  me — nor  in- 
deed to  any  woman,  for  that  matter.  He  looks  as 
if  he  could  be  intensely  interesting  if  he  would  only 
talk.  But  though  I  have  known  him,  en  passant,  for 
years,  I  never  seem  to  get  at  him  at  all." 

"You  are  certainly  right  in  supposing  him  to  be 
interesting!"  exclaimed  Pedro,  his  eyes  lighting  up 
at  this  appreciation  of  his  friend.  "He  is  a  man 
among  men!  A  great  mind;  a  sincere  artist.  I 
have  not  words  enough  to  praise  him.  I — I — well, 
here,  I  run  away  from  the  subject.  Ha!  ha!  you 
see  it  is  not  safe  to  start  me  about  Leigh.  But  to 
the  point.  One  night  not  long  ago  we  were  talking 
about  form  in  music,  and  he  told  me  that  he  had 
caught  Nature  herself  demonstrating  their  intimate 
kinship.  Listen — he  saw  the  Pocantico  hills  against 
the  sunset,  and  suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  that  if 
five  parallel  lines  were  drawn  behind  them  in  a 
given  space  (as  the  foundations  of  a  music  score 


THE    LADY    OF    MYSTERY  175 

are  drawn)  the  outlines  of  the  hills  against  them 
would  form  a  melody  where  the  extreme  height  and 
depths  of  outline  occurred.  He  made  a  drawing  of 
the  hills,  cut  it  out,  laid  it  upon  the  five  black  lines, 
and  behold! — a  melody  resulted,  which  he  showed 
me  upon  the  piano.  He  afterward  gave  me  the 
drawing;  it  is  in  this  pocket,  I  think." 

He  fumbled  in  the  depths  of  the  old  green  coat, 
while  Iris  waited  with  baited  breath.  Never  could 
strategy  have  worked  in  more  successful  allurement 
of  a  maiden  than  did  Pedro's  honest  withdrawal 
from  all  flirtatious  intent.  The  more  frequently 
his  little  hostess  looked  upon  him,  and  the  more  he 
withdrew  from  love,  the  more  certain  she  grew  that 
she  was  to  love  him — perhaps,  already  loved  him. 

How  good  he  was  to  look  at;  a  trifle  slight,  pos- 
sibly; but  what  wonderful  hair  he  had,  that  curled 
a  little. — "Like  the  young  tendril  of  the  grape." — 
Where  had  she  read  that?  And  what  a  fine  clean- 
cut  mouth,  with  its  firmly  modeled  corners !  Such  a 
face  meant  character — power!  As  to  personality, 
there  was  no  need  to  ask  about  his  possession  of  that ! 
Ah !  he  had  found  the  paper! 

Together  they  were  leaning  over  it  as  he  spread 
it  upon  the  table-cloth,  when  a  sharp  exclamation 


1 76  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

from  across  the  room  caused  them  to  look  up  hastily. 
In  the  doorway  stood  Reginald  Vanderpool,  his 
aristocratic  clean-shaven  face  for  the  instant 
blanched,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  Pedro  as  though  in 
fascinated  unbelief.  Iris  covered  the  odd  situation 
quickly. 

"Signer  Pedro,"  she  said,  "this  is  my  father." 
On  the  moment  the  man's  face  became  impassive, 
and  with  courteous  grace  he  advanced  to  greet  the 
guest  at  his  table.  The  two  shook  hands  and  the 
host  seated  himself,  giving  a  low-voiced  order  to 
the  servant,  who  brought  rice  and  milk  and  a  little 
fruit.  Either  the  millionaire's  tastes  were  simple, 
or  his  slim  figure  was  maintained  at  a  considerable 
cost. 

"Are  you  the  painter  of  whom  the  morning  paper 
speaks?"  he  inquired  of  Pedro.  "Pardon  my  not 
knowing." 

"I  suppose  I  am,"  replied  Pedro  composedly. 
i 

"Ah !    I  shall  be  interested  in  seeing  your  work," 

said  Vanderpool.  But  his  tone  was  perfunctory,  ex- 
cept for  a  note  of  what  might  have  been  disappoint- 
ment. After  this  he  spoke  very  little,  but  whenever 
the  conversation  between  his  daughter  and  Pedro 
became  most  animated  he  would  steal  a  covert  look 


THE    LADY    OF    MYSTERY  177 

at  the  youth — a  look  full  of  interest  and  something 
else,  too,  which  would  have  been  difficult  for  an  ob- 
server to  define. 

Before  the  meal  was  ended,  a  servant,  entering 
with  a  note,  caused  a  diversion,  and  as  he  put  the 
envelope  into  his  pocket,  Vanderpool  arose,  although 
he  had  scarcely  eaten  anything. 

"Sorry,  but  I  must  run  along,"  he  said.  Then, 
with  a  slight  bow  to  Pedro,  he  turned  to  leave.  At 
the  action  Iris  sprang  up,  and  going  to  her  father, 
she  put  a  detaining  hand  upon  his  sleeve. 

"Don't  go,  dearest,"  she  said;  "why,  you  will 
starve  yourself  to  death !" 

The  man's  face  softened  wonderfully  as  he  looked 
down  into  her  anxious  eyes. 

"There,  there,  I'm  not  hungry,"  he  said,  with  a 
little  crooked  smile.  "Really,  I  must  hurry  off." 

With  which  he  went  out  as  abruptly  as  he  had 
come. 

Iris  suggested  the  gray  room,  and  they  climbed 
the  stair  to  it  and  sat  themselves  upon  the  sofa 
where  Hill  and  she  had  quarreled.  But  no  ghost 
of  a  former  love  haunted  her  now.  Instead,  her  in- 
fatuation for  Pedro  burned  higher  every  moment, 
and  with  bright  eager  eyes  she  watched  him  as  he 


1 78  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

examined  and  admired  the  treasures  of  the  curious 
apartment.  The  atmosphere  was  becoming  tense 
again  as  she  spread  her  languorous  net  for  him, 
quite  delicately,  almost  insensibly,  and — quite  vain- 
ly. The  more  she  felt  this,  the  harder  she  strived, 
searching  about  in  her  mind  for  some  method  by 
which  to  chain  him  to  her.  Suppose,  her  charm 
failing,  she  had  too  little  to  offer  him  in  common 
friendship,  and  her  intellect  was  not  sufficient  to  at- 
tract him  to  a  second  visit?  What  could  she  do  to 
secure  his  interest,  to  cement  the  more  intimate  rela- 
tions which  had  been  theirs  upon  that  magical  even- 
ing just  passed?  She  might  invite  him  to  her  house, 
and  he  might  come  or  he  might  not.  This  usual 
course  left  him  too  free  an  agent.  She  must  find 
some  method  of  attaching  him  and  of  assuring  their 
meeting  frequently,  so  that  she  might  have  opportu- 
nity gradually  to  bind  him  by  more  tender  ties. 
Then,  too,  that  miniature  in  the  desk  seemed  to 
haunt  her — that  and  her  father's  start  when  he  en- 
tered the  dining-room.  But  among  her  numerous 
questionings,  one  thing  she  could  and  would  dis- 
cover :  what  did  Pedro  know  about  Hill  ? 

"Have  you  known   Mr.   Hill  long?"  she  asked. 
"I  see  that  it  is  his  studio  that  you  have  taken." 


THE    LADY    OF    MYSTERY  179 

"No,"  said  he;  "I  have  seen  him  only  once.  But 
I  feel  a  great  friendship  for  him,"  he  added  in  a 
significant  tone. 

She  changed  the  subject  hastily.  How  could  this 
stranger  have  learned  of  her  former  attachment? 
And  yet  his  tone  implied  that  he  had.  The  little 
society  item  that  Pedro  had  read,  for  some  reason 
had  escaped  her  own  notice.  If  he  had  heard  gos- 
sip, she  thought,  she  could  deny  it.  For  it  was  evi- 
dent that  the  circumstance,  if  he  had  knowledge  of 
it,  would  make  a  difference  in  his  attitude  toward 
her.  All  at  once  the  idea  for  which  she  was  search- 
ing flashed  into  her  mind. 

"I  hope  you  will  not  think  what  I  am  about  to 
say,  too  strange,"  she  began,  "or  consider  me  very 
presumptuous  in  assuming  that  you  are  already  suffi- 
ciently my  friend  to  permit  my  making  such  a  re- 
quest of  you ;  but  remember  that  I  owe  you  a  rescue 
and  that  we  have  come  together  instantly  on  the 
same  plane  without  any  of  the  usual  preamble.  Per- 
haps indebtedness  already  incurred  is  scarcely  a 
ground  for  claiming  further  help ;  but  you  will  un- 
derstand— ah!  you  must,  for  I  am  in  great  distress 
and  trouble,  and  there  is  no  one  to  whom  I  can  go 
with  my  difficulty." 


i So  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

Pedro,  who  had  been  examining  a  vase,  turned  to 
her  with  surprise.  Ever  ready  with  sympathy,  he  put 
out  his  hand  with  a  single  expressive  gesture. 

"Madonna!"  he  exclaimed,  "you  know  I  would 
willingly  serve  you.  If  it  is  in  my  power  to  help, 
surely  you  must  know  that  I  would  not  hesitate." 

"Very  well,  then,"  she  said  gravely.  "It  is  this : 
My  father  is  a  strong  man,  a  brave  man,  I  am  sure, 
and  one  who  is  not  easily  daunted  or  disturbed. 
You  noticed  how  he  acted  to-day?  Why,  he  was 
scarcely  civil  to  you.  Such  rudeness,  believe  me,  is 
far  from  his  customary  habit,  and  there  is  only  one 
explanation  for  it.  He  must  be  deeply  troubled 
about  something,  and  for  it  to  disturb  him  so,  that 
thing  is  a  very  serious  matter;  otherwise  he  would 
throw  it  off,  or,  at  worst,  conceal  it." 

"Have  you  no  idea  of  what  this  trouble  is?"  He 
asked. 

"I  have  tried  to  get  him  to  tell  me,"  she  replied, 
"but  it  has  been  a  useless  effort.  My  father  and  I 
are  close  friends,  but  he  persists  in  saying  there  is 
nothing  wrong,  which  simply  means  that  something 
is  very  wrong  indeed ;  so  much  so  that  he  is  unwill- 
ing to  tell  me." 


THE    LADY    OF    MYSTERY  181 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Pedro,  "but  how  can  I  help?" 
"The  case  is  just  this !"  she  cried,  rising  in  her  ex- 
citement: "I  have  good  reason  to  believe  that  he 
is  being  either  defrauded  by  a  pack  of  scoundrels 
who  have  managed  to  deceive  him  into  some  ques- 
tionable undertaking,  or  that  he  is  being  black- 
mailed. There  is  one  period  of  my  father's  life  of 
which  I  know  nothing,  and  I  am  sure  that  the  pres- 
ent trouble  dates  back  to  that  time.  Further  than 
this  I  can  guess  very  little.  My  father  would  go  to 
any  length  to  keep  scandal  from  his  name  on  my 
account,  no  less  than  his  own,  or  to  keep  harm  from 
reaching  me.  He  is  capable  of  the  most  quixotic 
actions.  In  some  matters  he  is  curiously  sensitive 
and  susceptible  to  distress,  and  that  is  what  makes 
me  so  sure  that  this  present  trouble  is  purely  an 
ethical  one  from  which  we  could  rescue  him.  Could 
you — oh !  do  you  think  that  you  could  in  any  way 
find  out  if  he  is  being  deceived,  imposed  upon,  and 
help  him,  or  at  least  set  my  disturbed  mind  at  rest?" 
"It  is  a  curious  request,"  said  Pedro  slowly.  "I 
to  help  your  father!  Why,  he  is  a  great  man — a 
wonderfully  successful  person.  Surely  you  can  not 
really  believe  I  could  serve  him  P* 


182  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"You  do  not  yet  understand,"  she  urged.  "He  is 
strong  and  capable,  but  he  is  almost  ridiculously 
sensitive  on  lines  which  touch  his  honor,  and  is  quite 
susceptible  to  being  worked  and  tormented  by  un- 
scrupulous people.  And  I  have  some  real  proof 
that  this  is  happening,  although  I  can  not  actually 
show  it  to  you  at  this  moment.  Do  you  remem- 
ber my  saying  that  I  carried  papers  of  value  the  day 
you  rescued  me  with  your  bear  ?  Well,  the  sight  of 
them  excited  my  father  greatly,  and  ever  since,  he 
has  been  receiving  letters  which  have  nothing  to  do 
with  his  regular  business  or  his  social  correspond- 
ence. I  know  it  for  a  fact,  because  I  stumbled  upon 
them  accidentally,  in  a  secret  drawer  of  his  desk. 
They  are  in  a  foreign  language — Spanish,  I  think — 
and  he  keeps  them  all  with  great  secrecy.  Oh !  I 
am  sure  he  is  being  harried  by  some  mysterious  peo- 
ple. Why,  that  note  he  received  at  luncheon  was 
directed  in  that  same  fine  foreign  handwriting  in 
which  the  others  are  written.  Now  won't  you  help 
me?  Don't  you  see  that  it  is  an  exquisitely  delicate 
matter  with  which  I  can  not  go  to  every  one?" 

"Have  you  no  relations  whom  this  would  con- 
cern?" he  asked. 


THE    LADY    OF    MYSTERY  183 

"No,"  said  she,  "we  have  only  some  distant 
cousins  whom  we  seldom  see  and  who  would  not  do 
at  all." 

"Then,"  said  Pedro,  "I  will  help  you.  It  is  a 
position  of  questionable  honor,  almost,  which  you 
require  for  this  spying  and  I  can  not  go  about  it  de- 
liberately. Yet,  if  you  sometime  can  give  me  a 
definite  task  in  the  matter,  I  will  make  sure  to  per- 
form it;  or  should  chance  throw  me  any  informa- 
tion, I  shall  not  fail  to  use  it  and  follow  it  up,  and 
I  shall  be  on  the  watchout  for  any  such.  Still,  it  is 
not  likely  that  such  a  thing  will  cross  my  path." 

"Thank  you !"  she  exclaimed  in  real  gratitude. 
"It  is  a  relief  to  know  that  I  may  call  upon  you  if 
necessary.  Then  the  matter  can  rest  between  us 
two.  There  is  nothing  at  present  that  I  can  ask 
you  to  do,  but  if  a  clue  should  arise  I  shall  let  you 
know." 

"And  I  will  respond  immediately,"  Said  he,  aris- 
ing to  take  his  departure.  "I  have  Triends — ay, 
good  friends — who  are  more  likely  to  hear  rumors 
of  plotting  than  I.  They  probably  know  most  of 
the  sub  rosa  doings  of  the  town  by  now,  or  else  they 
have  failed  in  their  habit  of  other  cities!  But  even 


1 84  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

so,  I  am  afraid  that  there's  not  a  very  great  chance 
of  their  stumbling  upon  the  particular  information 
we  need.  And  now,  Madonna,  I  must  leave.  Will 
you  pose  for  me?  I  want  to  paint  the  beautiful  line 
which  runs  from  your  chin  downward,  like  the  edge 
of  the  young  moon." 

"Pose!"  she  gasped,  astonished  at  this  new  turn 
of  affairs.  Then  delight  at  the  prospect  flooded  her 
heart  and  suffused  her  cheeks  with  a  delicate  color. 
"Pose  for  you!  Indeed,  yes.  When?" 

"To-morrow." 

"At  what  time?" 

"At  nine,  if  that  is  not  too  early." 

"I  shall  be  there,"  she  breathed. 

When  he  had  gone  she  descended  cautiously  to 
the  library,  and  rinding  it  vacant,  made  the  door 
fast.  Then,  springing  the  secret  catch  in  the  desk, 
she  took  out  the  miniature  which  lay  within  the  hid- 
ing-place, yor  a  long  time  she  gazed  at  it  earnestly. 
Then  a  curious  discovery  startled  her.  The  portrait 
was  Pedro,  teature  for  feature,  expression  and  all; 
but  one  item  which  had  somehow  escaped  her  now 
added  greatly  to  her  already  deep  perplexity.  The 
hair  of  the  picture,  instead  of  being  dark,  like 
Pedro's,  was  of  a  ripe  corn  gold ! 


CHAPTER  X 

CONCERNING  BOHEMIA 

ON  the  following  morning,  at  nine  o'clock 
promptly,  Iris  reached  the  top  landing  of 
the  Muldoon  Place  house  and  paused,  flushed  and 
rather  breathless,  before  the  studio  door.  On  it,  be- 
low the  heavy  brass  knocker  and  the  plate  engraved 
with  Hill's  name,  was  a  modest  ticket  bearing  sim- 
ply the  word  "Pedro."  Tucked  under  a  corner  of 
this  last  was  a  folded  bit  of  paper  addressed  to 
"Madonna  Iris."  At  sight  of  it  her  heart  almost 
stopped  beating.  Could  he  have  gone  away?  Did 
he  not  wish  to  see  her?  With  trembling  fingers 
she  unfastened  it,  opening  it  to  her  anxious  gaze. 

At  the  top  of  the  page  was  a  sketch  of  Pedro  him- 
self, empty  handed,  and  running  frantically  to  the 
open  door  of  a  shop  which  bore  the  sign :  Artists' 
Supplies.  Then  came  the  words:  "The  door  is 
unlocked.  Wait,  I  beseech  you.  I  haste;  I  fly!" 
Below  this  was  a  second  sketch  of  himself  running 
madly,  package  in  hand,  toward  a  door  marked 

Studio. 

185 


1 86  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

From  sheer  relief  she  laughed  aloud,  and  at  the 
sound  a  door  upon  the  landing  below  creaked  as 
though  some  one  had  opened  it  to  listen.  However, 
Miss  Vanderpool  did  not  notice  this,  but,  turning  the 
handle,  let  herself  into  the  studio,  where  she  had 
often  been  before,  to  be  sure,  but  never  until  now  un- 
chaperoned. 

Closisg  the  door  behind  her,  she  stood  motionless, 
leaning  against  it,  Pedro's  funny  little  note  crushed 
tightly  in  one  hand,  while  she  let  a  flood  of  mixed 
emotions  sweep  over  her.  Pedro,  the  adorable! 
This  was  his  habitation,  his  workshop!  Already 
his  vivid  personality  had  permeated  it,  blotting  out 
that  of  his  predecessor  as  effectively  here  among 
these  inanimate  objects,  as  he  was  unintentional!^ 
supplanting  Hill  in  the  heart  of  his  lady.  The 
very  furnishings  looked  different  under  the  slight 
change  Pedro  had  put  upon  them — a  chair  replaced, 
the  sofa  shifted  to  a  different  angle,  thus  leaving 
clear  a  greater  floor  space.  The  somewhat  careless 
arrangement,  instinctively  changed  for  comfort 
rather  than  deliberately  thought  out,  all  bespoke 
the  present  inhabitant.  Nothing,  indeed,  that  Pedro 
touched  could  fail  to  retain  his  mark,  and  here  he 
had  lived,  was  living! 


CONCERNING    BOHEMIA  187 

As  for  Sam  Hill!  Why  could  she  not  think  of 
him?  Why  not  feel  him  here  in  this  place,  which 
was  built  to  his  order,  ordered  by  his  careful 
thought?  She  tried  to,  but  vainly.  His  spirit  seemed 
gone  out  of  it.  Ungrateful  was  she?  Fickle?  Ah, 
well,  she  could  not  help  it  This  new  thing  was 
mounting  to  her  head  like  wine.  The  charm  of  this 
newcomer,  the  beauty  of  him,  the  manner — Hill 
slipped  out  of  her  mind,  out  of  association  with  the 
room,  as  completely  as  though  he  had  never  pos- 
sessed a  place  in  either,  leaving  her  swamped  by  her 
new  infatuation. 

Slowly  she  advanced  to  the  center  of  the  floor  and 
smoothed  out  the  crumpled  note.  How  clever  he 
was !  With  a  tender  little  sigh  she  folded  it  care- 
fully and  slipped  it  into  the  bosom  of  her  gown. 
Then  flushing  a  little,  she  removed  her  long  outer 
wrap  and  laid  it,  with  her  hat  and  furs,  upon  the 
couch.  She  was  wearing  a  trailing  gown  of  blue, 
almost  medieval  in  its  simplicity,  which  clung 
softly  to  the  long  lines  of  her  graceful  figure.  A 
trifle  self-consciously  she  went  to  one  of  the  swing- 
ing mirrors  and  smoothed  her  close-braided  hair 
before  it,  turning  away  only  when  its  arrangement 
had  been  completed  to  her  entire  satisfaction. 


1 88  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

When  this  was  accomplished  she  set  herself  down 
upon  the  sofa  to  wait,  but  a  sudden  nervousness  came 
upon  her,  and  springing  up  again  she  began  to  pace 
back  and  forth.  What  had  possessed  her  to  come 
here  alone?  What  would  her  father  say  if  he  knew 
of  her  doing  so?  Poor  man!  He  seemed  worried 
enough  nowadays  without  her  adding  the  burden 
of  an  action  of  which  he  would  not  approve!  Oh, 
that  trouble  of  his!  If  only  she  knew  what  it  was! 
Would  Pedro  be  able  to  help  her?  Pedro!  What 
would  he  think  of  her  for  coming  here  alone?  On 
the  occasions  of  her  former  visits  to  this  place  there 
had  been  company — many  people  talking  all  at  once 
and  eating  silly  food  while  pretending  to  look  at 
the  pictures. 

But  surely  Pedro  could  not  think  less  of  her  for 
coming  unchaperoned.  No  Bohemian  would.  And, 
anyway,  was  she  not  a  Bohemian  herself?  Had  she 
not  learned  to  laugh  at  the  ridiculous  conventions 
of  life  as  more  hypocrisy?  Still — 

There  was  a  footstep  upon  the  landing,  and  the 
door  opened  suddenly.  Expecting  to  see  Pedro, 
she  whirled  about  with  a  word  of  greeting,  but  to 
her  amazement,  in  his  stead  the  doorway  was  occu- 
pied by  a  woman ! 


CONCERNING    BOHEMIA  189 

It  was  Cassie. 

For  a  long  moment  neither  woman  spoke,  but 
stood  staring  intently,  one  as  much  amazed  as  the 
other. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Iris  interrogatively,  the 
question  following  swift  on  the  heels  of  the  first 
pang  of  jealousy  she  had  ever  experienced. 

What  woman  was  this  who  entered  his  apartment 
as  though  by  right? 

Cassie's  smile  was  disarming. 

"Pretty,  and  a  lady — a  rich  lady,"  she  said. 
"Why,  you  must  be  her!  Well,  I'm  glad  to  see 
you !" 

"Who  are  you,  please?"  repeated  Iris,  smiling  a 
little  in  response,  despite  herself. 

"Of  course  you'd  have  to  ask,"  replied  Cassie. 
"He  wouldn't  be  likely  to  have  mentioned  me  to 
you.  No  more  has  he  told  me  anything  about  you ; 
not  knowingly,  that  is.  But  just  the  same,  I've  no 
need  to  return  your  question." 

"You  are  correct  in  supposing  he  has  not  spoken 
of  you,"  said  Iris,  puzzled,  but  with  a  cold  fear 
creeping  over  her.  "Why  should  he  have  done  so? 
I — I  have  not  known  him  very  long,  and  we  have 
only  talked  about —  What  is  your  name?" 


190  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"My  name  is  Miss  Goodell,"  replied  the  girl,  still 
smiling,  her  eyes  full  of  curiosity. 

"And  who — how  do  you  know  me?"  asked  Iris. 

"Men  are  funny  things,"  said  Cassie.  "They  don't 
say  much  when  they  are  really  in  love  with  some  one. 
Oh,  I  knew  you  must  be  on  the  job  somewhere  the 
minute  he  said  he  had  a  luncheon  engagement 
yesterday.  The  way  he  said  it  put  me  wise." 

"And  you  were  annoyed  because  you  are — "  be- 
gan Iris. 

Cassie  stared  at  her  in  amazement,  open-mouthed, 
as  though  scarcely  able  to  believe  her  ears.  Then 
she  sprang  down  from  the  table  with  a  commanding 
gesture. 

"Hold  on  a  minute!"  she  cried.  "I  see  what  you 
mean,  only  I  couldn't  believe  my  hearing  for  a  sec- 
ond. You  think  because  I  walked  in  here  like 
that!  .  .  .  Lord!  Trust  a  good  woman  to 
think  the  worst !  I  guess  you  don't  know  much  about 
studio  life.  Come  back  here,  kid;  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  like  a  grandmother." 

Iris  had  reached  the  door,  her  coat  upon  her  arm, 
but  the  swift  torrent  of  words,  with  the  reproof 
they  bore,  made  her  pause  there.  Pictured  upon 
the  model's  face  was  disgust,  mingled  with  amuse- 


CONCERNING    BOHEMIA  191 

ment,  back  of  which  was  a  wide  sympathetic  un- 
derstanding that  made  the  slangy  little  person,  who 
was  scarcely  her  senior,  seem  ages  old.  Disgust! 
This  little  feminine  God-knows-what  felt  disgust  of 
her,  Iris  Vanderpool,  the  immaculate!  That  such 
a  condition  of  affairs  could  arise  was  in  itself  arrest- 
ing. At  recollecton  of  her  hasty  words,  the  younger 
woman  blushed  again,  turning  to  the  other,  half 
irresolutely. 

"Then  I  was  mis— oh!  I  am  sorry!"  she  cried, 
on  a  sudden  impulse  stretching  out  her  hand.  "Will 
you  forgive  me?" 

"Of  course  I  will.  Cut  the  comedy!"  said  Cassie. 
"Now,  come  sit  down  and  have  a  little  chat.  You 
really  oughtn't  to  go  off  the  handle  like  that  I've 
been  awful  anxious  to  see  you !" 

"But  really,  how  did  you  know  about  me?"  be- 
gan Iris. 

Again  the  girl  laughed. 

"I  pose  for  him,"  she  said,  "and  I  ain't  generally 
considered  to  be  lacking  in  charm.  Well,  the  charm 
failed,  and  when  it  does,  there's  usually  a  better 
reason  than  any  lack  of  looks  on  my  part.  You  are 
that  reason.  I  guessed  it  right  off.  Are  you  going 
to  marry  him?" 


192  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Oh!"  cried  Iris,  startled  by  the  suddenness  of 
the  question;  "why  do  you — how  do  I — ' 

"So  he  ain't  asked  you  yet,"  observed  Cassie 
shrewdly. 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  Iris  flared  at  her. 

"Because  you'd  have  said  yes  to  my  question  if 
he  had,"  Cassie  replied. 

Iris  arose  in  indignation,  but  reseated  herself,  bit- 
ing her  lip. 

"By  the  way,  what  have  you  come  here  for?" 
asked  Cassie,  watching  her  closely.  "If  you  ain't 
engaged  to  him,  a  visit  by  your  lonesome  is  a  lit- 
tle— " 

"I  came  to  pose,"  said  Iris  breathlessly.  "Signor 
Pedro  is  going  to  paint  my  portrait." 

"Even  so,  your  kind  don't  generally  come  alone, 
do  they?"  said  the  elder  girl  gently. 

"You  are  quite  mistaken !"  cried  Iris.  "It  is  suffi- 
ciently customary.  You  said  just  now  that  I  knew 
nothing  of  the  life  of  the  studios.  Well,  again  you 
are  mistaken.  I  do.  I  am  in  them  constantly. 
That  I  am  not  an  artist  does  not  prove  that  I  am  not 
a  Bohemian,  and  utterly  accustomed  to  freedom  of 
thought  and  action !" 


CONCERNING    BOHEMIA  193 

In  a  manner  filled  with  smoldering  defiance,  al- 
though intended  to  convey  an  impression  of  abso- 
lutely unconscious  habit,  she  helped  herself  to  a 
cigarette,  lighting  it  clumsily. 

"If  you  think  I  am  not  a  woman  of  the  world 
you  are  utterly  wrong,"  she  added,  and  then  sud- 
denly fell  to  coughing. 

"Don't  try  to  smoke  that;  it'll  choke  you!"  said 
Cassie,  shouting  with  laughter.  "Put  it  down! 
That's  right.  Now  listen  to  me,  and  don't  cry. 
There's  nothing  to  weep  over.  What  I'm  going  to 
tell  you  is  the  straight  goods,  see?  I'm  not  exactly 
a  lady  myself,  but  I  know  the  real  thing  when  I 
see  it,  and  this  time  it's  you,  with  no  mistake!" 

They  seated  themselves  before  the  fire  now,  side 
by  side,  Iris  submitting  meekly  to  being  placed  as 
Cassie  indicated.  The  latter  fingered  the  cheap 
bracelets  upon  her  wrist  as  she  spoke,  rapidly,  and 
Iris  listened,  her  blue  eyes  wide. 

"Now,  I'm  not  a  swell,"  began  Cassie;  "and 
probably  you'll  say  I  ain't  fit  to  advise  you.  And 
so  I  ain't,  but  I  do  know  something  more  about  this 
world  than  you  do.  That's  pretty  clear,  and  I  want 
to  slip  you  a  tip.  It's  this :  You  carefully  brought 


194  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

up  girls  think  it's  a  great  lark  to  come  into  'Bo- 
hemia/ as  you  call  it,  and  do  crazy  things,  as 
though  you  was  in  a  foreign  country  where  you 
didn't  expect  to  be  seen.  It's  that  queer  notion,  that 
what  people  are  told  not  to  do,  is  fun  to  do,  that's 
brought  you  here.  You  came  alone  because  it  made 
you  feel  like  a  'real  devil'  to  do  so ;  lighting  the 
cigarette,  the  same.  But  you  ain't  a  Bohemian  and 
never  can  be,  because  it's  not  in  you — because  all 
this  informal  life  -is  a  game  to  you.  You  have  to 
live  it  unconsciously  before  you  belong.  You  only 
play  it.  But  the  trouble  is,  you  can't  step  back  safe 
behind  your  locked  doors  of  respectability  when 
you  quit  feeling  it's  a  game,  see?  And  your  kind 
would  always  be  pounding  on  them  doors,  trying 
to  get  back  once  you  was  really  locked  out,  see? 
And  you'd  be  unhappy.  Now,  your  set  would  lock 
you  out  P.  D.  Q.  if  they  caught  you  coming  to 
studios  by  your  lonesome.  Why,  you  know  that  if 
you  think  a  minute !  You  don't  really  mind  my  say- 
ing that,  do  you?  I  mean  it  the  right  way." 

"I  see,"  said  Iris  in  a  low  voice. 

"And  there's  another  thing,"  said  Cassie.  "They 
are  all  alike  in  one  thing,  the  men  are.  The  harder 
a  thing  is  to  get,  the  worse  they  want  it.  Oh,  don't 


CONCERNING    BOHEMIA  195 

mistake!  There's  no  sense  in  being  offish.  But 
there's  no  use  running  after  them,  believe  mtl 
You'll  only  scare  'em  to  death !" 

"But  I'm  not — "  began  Iris,  painfully  conscious 
of  having  come  alone  for  the  express  purpose  of  giv- 
ing Pedro  the  greater  opportunity  for  sentiment. 

"Then  mind  you  don't!"  said  Cassie,  rising  as  the 
door  flew  back  to  admit  Pedro. 

"Madonna!"  he  cried,  throwing  the  parcel  that 
he  carried  upon  the  table  and  going  to  Iris  with  out- 
stretched hands.  "I  entreat  your  forgiveness,  but 
there  was  no  paint  with  which  to  make  the  divine 
blue — see,  like  this!"  He  swooped  down  upon  a 
length  of  silk  which  lay  near  by  and  flung  it  upon 
her  shoulder.  "I  have  it  now,  and  you  will  not  be 
angry  because  I  was  absent,  eh?" 

"Oh,  no,"  she  answered,  beaming  at  the  sound  of 
his  voice. 

He  next  turned  to  Cassie,  the  sight  of  whom  did 
not  disconcert  him  in  the  least,  a  fact  which  Iris 
noted  with  relief. 

"The  cakes  were  wonderful !"  he  exclaimed  to  the 
model.  "Not  until  a  moment  ago  did  I  realize  that 
you  must  have  made  them  yourself.  I  thank  you !" 
He  kissed  her  hand.  "You  know  this  lady,  Miss 


196  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

Vanderpool?"  he  asked,  taking  her  to  Iris.  "This 
is  a  friend  who  has  been  so  good  to  me!" 

"She  has  been  kind  to  me,  also,"  said  Iris. 

"Ah!  she  is  your  friend,  Madonna?  That  is 
good!  I  did  not  know.  However,  we  will  get  to 
work  now  if  you  are  willing.  Step  upon  the  plat- 
form, so!" 

Cassie,  having  gathered  up  the  remains  of  the 
little  cakes,  to  which  Pedro  had  evidently  referred, 
was  about  to  take  a  reluctant  departure,  when  Iris, 
turning  around  under  Pedro's  guidance,  stopped  her 
with  a  gesture. 

"Don't  go  away,"  she  said  shyly,  moved  by  an 
impulse  she  could  not  have  defined.  "If  you  are  not 
too  busy,  won't  you  sit  in  here?  You  will  give  me 
confidence." 

The  girl  looked  at  her  suspiciously.  What  did 
this  move  portend?  Was  it  really  the  hand  of 
friendship?  At  any  rate  if  she  consented  it  would 
do  no  harm. 

"All  right,  I'd  just  as  soon,"  she  remarked  non- 
chalantly. 

"How  delightful  that  you  are  friends !"  hummed 
Pedro,  busy  with  the  wondrous  blue  drapery. 
"Friends,  friends;  oh,  world  of  friendship!" 


CONCERNING    BOHEMIA  197 

"Thank  you,"  said  Iris,  without  spoiling  the  pose; 
and  thereafter  spoke  no  more  during  the  interval. 

The  elder  girl  went  silently  to  the  bookcase  and 
stood  covertly  watching  the  painter,  who  already 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  women.  Cassie  had 
simply  ceased  to  exist  for  him  at  all,  and  the  per- 
sonality of  Iris  had  merged  into  the  wider  ego  of 
art  itself.  The  line  was  there;  the  color  was  there; 
the  soul  he  would  bring  to  the  very  surface  of  her 
exquisitely  textured  skin;  but  Iris,  the  woman,  had 
ceased  to  be,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned. 

Before  many  minutes  had  passed  Iris  herself  be- 
came aware  of  Pedro's  detachment,  and  knew  that 
she  needed  no  guardian  to  protect  her  from  this  ab- 
stracted spirit,  who,  with  earnest  brow,  labored  so 
devoutly  at  the  rudiments  of  his  work;  knew,  also, 
that  the  smaller  conventions  of  life  had  no  existence 
in  his  mind,  and  that  he  had  noted  her  request  to 
Cassie  as  little  as  he  had  noted  the  fact  of  her  orig- 
inally having  come  alone.  He  wanted  to  paint  her, 
and  he  was  doing  so.  That  was  the  main  point  of 
her  presence,  and  evidently  to  him  a  sufficient  one. 
So  far  as  conversation  went,  she  might  as  well  not 
have  been  there. 

The  morning  wore  on  very  quietly,  and  in  the 


198  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

rests  little  was  said,  Pedro  simply  releasing  Iris 
with  a  signal,  and  at  once  falling  to  touching  and 
rubbing  of  the  canvas.  Then  she  would  resume  the 
pose,  and  he  would  begin  anew. 

One  o'clock  came  and  went,  and  still  they  heeded 
not,  and  it  was  well  on  toward  two  when  the  first 
interruption  occurred.  A  timid  knock  sounded  at  the 
door,  as  though  some  tiny  child  were  seeking  ad- 
mission, and  then,  before  Cassie  could  respond  to  it, 
the  gigantic  figure  of  Leigh  slipped  in  through  an 
incredibly  small  crack,  and  looked  about  him.  Iris 
smiled  a  greeting,  but  did  not  move,  and  Pedro  did 
not  notice  the  intrusion.  Leigh  dropped  into  a  chair 
beside  Cassie,  with  whom  he  seemed  to  be  on  terms 
of  long  acquaintance. 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  pose  for  Elloch  this 
morning!"  he  whispered. 

She  looked  at  him  in  comical  dismay. 

"Why,  so  I  was!"  she  whispered  back.  "But  I 
clean  forgot !  How  did  you  know  ?  Ain't  you  been 
somewhere?" 

"Yes,"  he  responded,  "for  two  weeks.  But,  I  just 
passed  Elloch,  who  was  cursing  you  out.  What  are 
you  doing,  loafing  around  here?" 

"I  am  chaperoning  Miss  Vanderpool." 


CONCERNING    BOHEMIA  199 

"You  are!"  ejaculated  Leigh. 

"I  am — honest,"  she  said,  with  serious  eyes. 

"There!"  exclaimed  Pedro,  throwing  down  his 
tools.  "Enough  for  to-day." 

"I  should  think  so!"  cried  Leigh.  "You  look  ex- 
hausted. And  you,  too,  Miss  Vanderpool.  I  didn't 
know  you  had  met  Pedro,"  he  continued,  helping 
her  to  descend  from  the  model  throne.  "You  see,  I 
have  been  away,  and  am  behind  the  times." 

"Oh !  yes,  we  are  friends,"  said  Pedro,  his  face 
lighting  up  wonderfully  at  sight  of  Leigh.  "Wel- 
come home!  Did  you  get  the  commission?  Are 
they  delighted  with  the  sketch?  But,  of  course! 
Dios!  you  are  a  sight  to  gladden  the  heart !" 

Pedro's  cheeks  were  aflame,  and  his  eyes  shone 
with  excitement.  Iris  noted  this  with  wonder,  and 
thought  that  truly  his  friendship  for  Leigh  must  be 
great,  since  the  mere  sight  of  the  sculptor  aroused  in 
him  an  enthusiasm  so  far  beyond  any  which  he  dis- 
played for  others.  And,  indeed,  at  this  moment  Pe- 
dro appeared  to  see  no  one  but  the  tall  gaunt  man, 
whose  hands  he  held.  To  break  the  little  tableau, 
Iris  looked  at  her  watch,  and  noted  the  hour  with 
an  exclamation  of  surprise.  Then  she  began  slip- 
ping into  her  outdoor  garments. 


200  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"I  must  fly!"  she  cried.  "When  shall  I  come 
again  ?" 

"I — er — suppose  I  call  you  up  and  you  can  let  me 
know?"  said  Pedro,  looking,  however,  at  Leigh. 
"We  must  have  it  soon.  Ah !  it  is  good  to  have  you 
back,  amigo  mio!"  he  added  to  the  sculptor. 

"To-morrow?"  said  Iris.  It  almost  seemed  as  if 
she  were  persisting.  "I  could  come  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"Will  you  be  working  to-morrow?"  Pedro  asked 
of  Leigh. 

Abraham  Lincoln  Leigh  nodded  his  long  head. 

"This  day  I  loaf  with  you,"  he  said.  "To-morrow 
I  shall  begin  to  set  up  the  big  group." 

Pedro  turned  to  Iris. 

"To-morrow  morning  will  be  splendid  then!"  he 
said.  "You  will  come  early,  eh  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "but  now  I  must  go." 

"And  I,  also,"  said  Leigh.  "I  must  leave  an  or- 
der at  Penelli's  for  plasterline.  I'll  be  back  in  an 
hour,  Pedro.  Cassie,  you'd  better  hustle  around  to 
Elloch's  and  make  your  peace!  May  I  show  you  to 
your  motor,  Miss  Vanderpool?  It's  waiting  out  on 
the  avenue." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Iris,  "I  shall  be  glad."   Then 


CONCERNING    BOHEMIA  201 

she  turned  to  Cassie,  all  her  original  antagonism 
coming  back  full  force.  What  right  had  this  girl 
to  dictate  to  her,  Iris?  How  could  this  little  model 
know  what  was  wisest  and  best  for  a  woman  so  in- 
finitely above  her  that  the  very  tone  of  a  man's  voice 
changed  in  speaking  to  them? 

"Good-by,"  said  Iris  stiffly,  ignoring  the  girl's 
outstretched  hand.  Then  she  went  out  with  Leigh, 
her  head  very  much  in  the  air. 

Cassie  said  nothing,  but  stood  gazing  dumbly  after 
her.  Then  she  let  her  hand  drop,  and  gave  her 
shoulders  a  little  shrug.  What  was  the  use?  Their 
worlds  were  too  far  apart. 

"Pedro,"  she  said  wistfully.  It  is  not  good  to  be 
ignored. 

But  Pedro  did  not  answer.  He  was  in  the  adjoin- 
ing room,  busily  engaged  in  washing  the  stains  from 
his  hands,  prior  to  adventuring  forth  with  Leigh. 
As  he  splashed,  he  whistled  gaily,  a  waltz  that 
was  strange  and  arresting.  Where  had  she  heard 
it  before?  Ah!  yes!  the  people  on  the  ground  floor 
played  it  sometimes.  It  had  a  sad  little  refrain. 

"Good-by,  Pedro,"  she  said  again.  But  still  he 
did  not  hear,  and  with  a  little  gesture  as  though  she 
let  something  fall  from  her  hands,  she  went  out, 


202 

closing  the  door  so  softly  that  the  lilt  of  the  tune 
covered  the  sound  of  her  going. 

When  Pedro  and  Leigh  went  down  the  stairs, 
arm  in  arm,  the  door  of  the  ground-floor  apartment 
was  slammed  with  violence,  just  as  they  passed  it. 

"Do  you  know  the  chap  who  lives  here?"  asked 
Leigh. 

"Never  saw  him,"  said  Pedro.  "These  tenants 
are  all  very  quiet  I  never  meet  any  of  them,  except 
Cassie." 

"I've  seen  this  down-stairs  fellow,"  said  Leigh. 
"Disagreeable  fellow.  Name's  Rowe,  I  believe." 

"I  have  never  seen  him,"  Pedro  replied.  "Where 
shall  we  go,  eh  ?" 

"Paleri's,"  said  Leigh;  "we  can  talk  there.  I 
have  made  a  discovery  that  I  must  impart  to  you. 
And  later,  there  is  a  party  at  the  League.  They 
want  me  to  speak.  I'm  instructor  there,  you  know. 
Mind  going?" 

"Never  you  fear !"  laughed  Pedro  assentingly. 

And  so  they  went  to  eat  pink  spaghetti  at  Pale- 
ri's on  Washington  Square  (lord!  how  often  we 
eat),  and  they  talked  fluently  over  the  acrid  wine. 
Yes,  Leigh  had  secured  the  western  commission. 


CONCERNING    BOHEMIA  203 

Yes,  they  liked  the  models  rather,  but  the  important 
thing  was  the  discovery.  The  discovery  dealt  with 
architecture  and  was,  briefly,  that  the  trouble  with 
sky-scraping  buildings  was  that  their  perpendicular 
lines  were  not  sufficiently  accentuated.  A  most  im- 
portant fact,  this;  and  he,  Leigh,  had  hit  upon  a 
way  of  improvement.  It  was  thus  and  so.  He  drew 
some  diagrams  upon  the  cloth,  and  "Oh!"  and 
"Ah !"  said  Pedro,  illuminated. 

Other  vital  subjects  of  the  same  order  came  to 
their  minds,  and  Leigh,  completely  under  the  spell 
of  Pedro's  charm  once  more,  entirely  forgot  to  in- 
quire further  into  the  friendship  with  the  Asphalt 
King's  daughter,  which  had  sprung  up  during  his 
absence.  They  had  a  wonderful  time ;  for  anything 
seemed  interesting,  personal,  intimate,  so  be  it  they 
were  together  again.  Only  now,  indeed,  did  they 
realize  how  sorely  they  had  missed  each  other. 

When  it  was  time  to  leave  for  the  Art  League, 
they  swung  up  Fifth  Avenue,  arm  in  arm,  and 
pausing  at  Forty-second  Street,  gave  one  of  their 
"art  instructions"  to  a  small  and  mocking  group. 
The  subject  was  the  deficiencies  of  the  new  Public 
Library,  and  Leigh  informed  them  that  its  propor- 
tions were  wrong;  the  columns  were  too  fat  for  their 


204  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

height,  the  doors  too  small,  etc.  It  was  an  excellent 
talk,  brief  and  to  the  point  Two  girls,  with  painted 
cheeks,  stopped  their  prowling  along  the  dark  wall 
of  the  public  garden  and  stood  listening  to  the  rich 
tone  of  this  ultra-masculine  person's  voice.  A  col- 
lege youth,  rather  "elevated"  by  a  course  at  the 
Manhattan  bar,  and  a  brace  of  roistering  compan- 
ions, were  there  also.  Two  newsboys  stared  up  into 
the  face  of  the  speaker,  and  on  the  outer  edge  of  the 
circle,  half-ashamed,  a  theater-bound  suburban  cou- 
ple lingered.  A  supercilious  policeman  and  a  non- 
descript loafer  or  two  were  in  the  crowd,  and  a 
ruddy-faced  old  gentleman  in  evening  clothes.  Be- 
hind him  stood  three  sailors  from  a  battleship,  and 
a  professional  dog-fighter,  with  his  strong  white  an- 
imal in  leash.  Nowhere,  thought  Pedro,  could  a 
more  cosmopolitan  audience  be  found.  This,  indeed, 
was  getting  instruction  to  the  people.  And  such  a 
lecture !  They  could  not  fail  to  understand  it ! 

Leigh  finished  with  a  short  peroration  concerning 
the  duty  of  all  citizens  to  make  their  city  a  place  of 
beauty,  and  of  the  reaction  of  beauty  upon  the  pub- 
lic mind.  Then  he  thanked  them  for  their  attention. 
The  painted  women  giggled,  and  nudging  each 
other,  called  out  some  vulgar  colloquialism.  "Can 


CONCERNING    BOHEMIA  205 

the  comedy,"  yelled  one  newsboy,  rushing  off  after 
dodging  the  policeman's  stick.  The  loafers  shuf- 
fled away  wordlessly,  and  an  ancient  match-woman 
begged  for  charity.  The  suburban  couple  had  not 
waited  for  the  end,  and  had  soon  made  off  to  their 
dollar-fifty  seats.  If  the  meaning  of  what  Leigh 
said  had  penetrated  to  the  minds  of  any  of  these, 
they  gave  no  sign  of  it,  but  slid  away  on  their 
own  affairs.  All,  that  is,  but  the  ruddy  old  gentle- 
man in  evening  clothes.  He  came  forward  and 
shook  Leigh  by  the  hand. 

"I  entirely  agree  with  you  in  your  criticism,  sir," 
said  he.  "My  own  plans,  which  I  submitted  in  the 
competition  for  that  building,  were  refused,  sir,  and 
they  had  no  such  faults  as  you  very  justly  find  here, 
sir!" 

With  which  he  went  his  complacent  way,  leaving 
Pedro  and  his  friend  to  discuss  amusedly  the  little 
adventure,  and  brood  upon  the  tremendous  lot  they 
knew  about  art,  the  while  they  reached  Fifty-sev- 
enth Street  and  the  National  Academy  Building. 

Here,  in  the  well-lighted  assembly-room,  Leigh, 
his  rough  tweed  clothing  very  shabby  under  the 
fierce  light,  made  another  speech,  not  nearly  so 
good  this  time,  and  delivered  rather  self-con- 


206  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

sciously.  The  wide  floor  was  well  covered  by  a 
cosmopolitan  crowd,  seated  upon  camp-chairs, — stu- 
dents, both  men  and  women,  instructors  and  their 
wives,  and  parents  of  some  of  the  pupils.  The  stu- 
dents were  of  varied  ages,  some  very  young,  not 
more  than  sixteen,  and  some  old  enough  to  be  the 
parents  of  these.  Here  good  artists  had  sat  and 
graduated ;  here  sat  many  who  would  become  noted. 
All  were  vivacious,  some  were  clean,  and  the  pro- 
gram for  their  entertainment  was  furnished  from 
the  home  talent  of  the  League,  both  past  and  pres- 
ent. Edwards,  the  illustrator,  sang  to  his  guitar; 
surely  no  one  could  do  it  so  well  as  he,  so  tuneful 
and  so  debonair.  And  Collings,  the  man  who  draws 
the  dogs,  talked  a  song  which  he  accompanied  upon 
the  piano.  An  improvised  grand  opera  followed, 
and  then  the  portrait-painter,  whose  class  it  is  so 
easy  to  enter  and  so  difficult  to  graduate  from, 
spoke,  a  trifle  pompously.  Milligan  was  there  also, 
jolly  little  Milligan ;  and  he  recited  a  French-Cana- 
dian poem  (very  badly,  by  the  way). 

On  the  walls  of  the  room  in  which  all  this  took 
place  hung  many  paintings,  mostly  out  of  frames, 
and  all  of  them  good,  though  many  were  too  "ad- 
vanced" to  show  to  the  conservative  public.  It  was 


CONCERNING    BOHEMIA  207 

the  "best"  room  of  the  League,  and  later  the  throng 
trooped  up  three  flights  of  stairs  to  where  the  class- 
rooms had  been  thrown  together  for  dancing.  Some 
one  played  the  piano.  How  the  dancers  spun  and 
whirled!  Such  odd-looking  couples!  There  was 
one  particularly  wild-looking  girl,  with  earrings 
of  red  sealing-wax.  Some  said  she  might  be  great 
some  day.  And  the  red-headed  boy  with  whom  she 
danced  had  just  won  the  Prix  de  Rome.  Ah,  well ! 
there  were  too  many  of  them,  good,  bad  and  in- 
different, to  take  time  for  the  picturing  of  them  all  ; 
too  many  types,  ugly  and  beautiful,  successful  or 
failing!  Imagine  them  for  yourself;  they  are  in 
every  atelier  in  the  world. 

Pedro  and  Leigh  watched  them  for  a  while,  and 
even  did  a  "grizzly  bear"  themselves,  greatly  to  the 
joy  of  their  audience.  Then  they  clattered  down  the 
carpetless  stairs  and  went  around  to  the  "Alps"  for 
a  little  brown  drink  they  make  there.  Prunes  go 
into  the  concocting  of  it,  and  you  drink  only  one 
glass — if  you  are  wise.  And  over  this  they  tackled 
cosmic  problems  to  their  heart's  content,  until  it  was 
close  on  to  one  o'clock,  when,  in  a  very  enthusiastic 
mood,  Pedro  saw  Leigh  to  the  latter's  door.  They 
stood  for  several  moments  in  the  shelter  of  the  vesti- 


208  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

bule,  comparing  the  English  of  Oscar  Wilde  to  that 
of  the  St.  James  Bible.  Then  Leigh  found  his  latch- 
key and  Pedro  turned  homeward. 

But  he  was  not  destined  to  reach  the  studio  imme- 
diately. 

Before  he  had  gone  to  the  end  of  the  block,  he 
turned,  and  stood  quite  motionless,  looking  up  at 
Leigh's  window,  where  a  dim  light  soon  appeared 
behind  the  cracked  and  yellow  blinds.  Until  this 
light  had  been  extinguished,  he  waited,  looking  up 
with  a  strange  expression  in  his  eyes.  Then,  when 
the  window  went  dark,  he  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands  and  seemed  to  purge  his  soul  of  some  trouble. 
After  a  moment  or  two,  however,  he  abruptly 
squared  his  shoulders  and  resumed  his  homeward 
way ;  only  to  be  halted  by  the  sight  of  two  men,  who 
issued  from  the  swinging  door  of  a  little  subter- 
ranean cafe  and  paused  together  under  a  street 
lamp. 

At  his  first  glimpse  of  the  taller  of  the  two  men, 
Pedro's  heart  gave  a  great  thump  of  surprise.  It 
was  Mr.  Vanderpool,  Iris'  father!  And  who  was 
the  disreputable-looking  fellow  to  whom  he  was 
talking?  Why  had  the  chap  such  a  familiar  look? 
Where  had  he  seerj  the  fellow  before?  Impossible 


CONCERNING    BOHEMIA  209 

to  remember.  But  whatever  their  former  encounter, 
it  paled  in  interest  beside  the  fact  that  the  mystery 
he  had  undertaken  to  unravel  was  probably  being 
enacted,  in  part,  under  his  very  nose. 

Clearly  some  mischief  was  afoot.  By  his  tone 
and  gestures,  the  smaller  man  appeared  to  be  dictat- 
ing to  the  millionaire,  who  followed  his  words  anx- 
iously. Assuming  a  careless  saunter,  Pedro  pulled 
his  cap  far  down  over  his  eyes  and  walked  past  the 
two. 

"A  week  is  impossible;  too  long,  by  far,"  the 
villainous-looking  person  was  saying  as  Pedro 
passed.  "I  warn  you,  it  must  be  ready  by  three  days 
from  now  at  the  latest." 

Vanderpool's  low-voiced  reply  did  not  reach  the 
straining  ears  of  Pedro,  who  had  stepped  into  an 
area- way  just  beyond,  where  he  could  watch 
through  the  railing  without  being  seen  him- 
self. But  he  could  hear  nothing  further,  ow- 
ing to  the  direction  of  the  wind.  What  was 
to  be  done?  How  strange  that  chance  should 
have  let  him  stumble  upon  the  action  of  a  mystery 
which  he  had  scarcely  believed  in  the  existence  of! 
And  mystery  there  was,  beyond  a  doubt,  else  why 
this  meeting  in  a  little  unnamed  wine-cellar — why 


210  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

this  Hour  of  the  night?  But  how  should  he,  Pedro, 
act?  Follow  Vanderpool?  Perhaps!  In  all  prob- 
ability the  millionaire  would  go  directly  home.  Fol- 
low the  other?  That  might  prove  more  fruitful. 
While  he  waited  in  perplexity  his  problem  was  de- 
cided for  him  by  the  appearance  of  a  cab,  which 
Vanderpool  hailed,  and  getting  into,  drove  off. 

After  waiting  a  moment  to  make  certain  of  the  di- 
rection taken  by  the  cab,  the  man  with  whom  Van- 
derpool had  been  talking  started  off  rapidly  in  the 
opposite  way,  which  led  toward  Sixth  Avenue.  On 
the  instant  Pedro  was  shadowing  him,  dodging  in 
and  out  of  the  darker  spots  and  keeping  at  a  discreet 
distance. 

After  a  few  moments  he  realized  that  they  were 
bound  in  the  direction  of  his  own  studio !  He  quick- 
ened his  pace,  lessening  the  distance  between  his 
quarry  and  himself,  for  they  were  now  on  the  lighted 
avenue,  where  boldness  was  less  conspicuous  than 
stealth.  The  man  ahead  was  evidently  in  a  hurry 
and  did  not  pause,  nor  once  look  around.  And  all 
the  time  Pedro  puzzled  his  head  as  to  where  he 
had  seen  the  fellow's  back  before.  He  had  an  ex- 
cellent memory,  but  in  this  case  it  was  scarcely 
heeded,  for  one  of  the  man's  shoulders  was  slightly 


CONCERNING    BOHEMIA  211 

higher  than  the  other  and  he  had  a  peculiarly  sneak- 
ing gait.  Pedro  became  so  much  absorbed  in  try- 
ing to  place  this  person  that  he  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve his  eyes  when  the  man  vanished  from  before 
them.  A  swift  glance  about  showed  that  he  was 
in  i  his  home  block.  There  was  only  one  place  into 
uhich  the  man  could  have  gone — Muldoon  Place! 
Before  him  loomed  the  dark  and  narrow  gate,  with 
its  dim  lantern,  showing  the  name  flickeringly. 
Breaking  into  a  run,  Pedro  gained  the  entrance  just 
in  time  to  see  the  man  he  was  pursuing  gain  ad- 
mittance to  the  interior  house  by  the  basement  door. 
For  a  moment  he  stood  stock-still  with  surprise.  The 
basement  of  the  house  in  which  he,  himself,  lived! 
Why,  that  was  a  part  of  those  people's  apartment — 
what  was  their  name?  Ah,  yes,  Rowe! 

Alive  with  curiosity,  he  crossed  the  court  with 
cautious  steps,  and  tiptoeing  to  the  barred  window, 
which  was  further  reinforced  by  shutters  on  the  in- 
side, knelt  down  upon  the  stones  and  applied  his 
eye  to  the  crack  of  a  lame  slat. 

At  first  he  could  see  nothing  but  a  patch  of  red 
carpet,  so  he  shifted  slightly,  bringing  into  full 
view  the  man  whom  he  had  followed.  At  this  he 
suddenly  remembered.  It  was  the  tramp  who  had 


212  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

tried  to  rob  Iris!  What  a  mystery  was  here!  First 
a  man  tries  to  rob  the  daughter  and  then  is  seen  in 
secret  conference  with  the  father !  Papers!  Yes,  she 
had  papers  in  that  little  silk  purse,  and  this  rascal 
knew  their  value,  no  doubt.  But  what  could  they 
concern?  The  man  had  moved  aside  now,  disclos- 
ing another,  at  sight  of  whom  Pedro's  heart  liked 
to  have  stopped.  "Ricardo !"  he  gasped,  amazed. 
But  his  gaze  and  his  painful  wonderment  were  in- 
stantly deflected  from  "Rowe"  to  a  woman  who 
sat  beyond  him.  Feature  for  feature,  the  face  she 
lifted  in  the  light  was  his,  Pedro's,  very  own.  She 
was  his  counterpart,  all  but  the  color  of  the  hair! 

Like  a  wounded  animal,  Pedro  gave  a  little  moan, 
and  clutching  at  his  heart,  dropped  his  head  upon 
the  stone  sill  and  sobbed  gaspingly,  terribly.  Then 
a  noise  inside  the  room  startled  him.  They  were 
coming  to  the  door.  Evidently  the  woman  was  leav- 
ing. Arising,  he  flung  out  his  arms  toward  the 
warmly-lit  interior  with  a  single  gesture  of  passion- 
ate longing,  and  turning  fled  terror-stricken  to  the 
sanctuary  of  his  room  above  stairs. 


CHAPTER    XI 

SUNDRY  ADVENTURES 

ON  that  night  when  Rowe  had  struck  Old  Nita, 
and  she  had  fallen  senseless  into  the  arms 
of  Samuel  Hill,  peace  and  order  were  long  in  com- 
ing to  the  little  summer  garden. 

When  a  light  had  been  lit  to  disclose  the  disorder 
of  the  bar,  Hill's  first  thought  was  to  get  Nita 
and  himself  away  before  the  matter  went  any 
further.  A  swift  examination  sufficed  to  show  that 
she  had  not  regained  consciousness  by  the  time  that 
Mikey  had  begun  telephoning  for  the  police.  Once 
let  the  bluecoats  arrive  and  it  would  be  no  easy  mat- 
ter to  escape  publicity.  Whatever  Nita's  grievance 
against  the  man,  Rowe,  it  must  forego  immediate 
settlement!  No  good  could  come  of  a  court- room 
scene  just  at  present.  Besides,  Hill  was  now  certain 
that  the  foreigner  was  in  reality  his  tenant,  and  he 
could,  consequently,  assist  in  finding  and  bringing 
him  to  justice  later.  But  what  was  to  be  done  for 
Old  Nita?  Would  she  never  come  to?  Seizing  a 

213 


214  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

bottle  of  brandy,  he  poured  out  a-little  and  succeeded 
in  forcing  a  drop  or  two  between  her  lips,  whereat, 
choking  slightly,  she  came  to  life.  Apparently,  she 
had  received  no  injury  more  severe  than  the  shock 
of  the  blow.  Thank  heaven  she  was  no  worse ! 

"Old  Mother,  can  you  walk?"  he  queried  anx- 
iously. 

But  she  seemed  not  to  hear  him.  In  an  instant 
more  Mikey  would  leave  the  telephone,  and  it  would 
certainly  be  a  mistake  to  wait  for  that  to  happen ! 
With  an  effort  he  gathered  the  old  woman  into  his 
arms,  and  after  a  moment  or  two,  found  himself  in 
the  street.  He  extracted  the  old-fashioned  key  from 
the  lock,  and,  closing  the  storm-door,  fastened  it  on 
the  outside.  But  what  to  do  next?  Anxiously  he 
gazed  up  and  down  the  deserted  snow-bound  ave- 
nue. At  a  glance  it  was  plain  that  he  could  not  car- 
ry Nita  to  the  car  line,  and  he  began,  too  late,  to 
curse  the  lack  of  sense  that  had  led  them  so  far 
a-field  at  such  an  hour.  It  seemed  as  though  the 
Irishman  must  be  upon  them  at  any  instant  now ! 

At  the  moment  of  his  despair  there  emerged 
from  the  basement  of  one  of  the  houses  a  little  down 
the  line  the  cabby  to  whom  the  solitary  remaining 
vehicle  before  the  saloon  belonged.  Whether  he 


SUNDRY   ADVENTURES  215 

was  warmed  by  a  successful  amatory  adventure,  by 
the  wines  of  an  unconscious  host  in  the  person  of 
the  cook's  employer,  or  by  some  other  agency,  must 
go  unrecorded  here,  but  the  fact  remained  that  his 
good  humor  was  such  that  without  solicitation  he 
hailed  the  little  group  in  the  snow  with  a  proposition 
which  seemed  like  a  beneficence  direct  from  heaven. 

"Ole  lady  hurted?"  beamed  this  cherubic  person- 
age. 

"No,  only  tired  out,"  lied  Hill  glibly. 

"I'll  histe  yer  to  a  car,"  suggested  the  man. 
"Never  di-serted  a  lidy  in  distress.  Nope!" 

"I'm  afraid  they  wouldn't  let  us  on  a  car,"  ex- 
claimed Hill.  "Are  you  going  down-town,  by 
chance?" 

"No,  I'm  a-goin'  a-purpose!"  grinned  the  man. 
"Get  in ;  I'll  take  yer  fur  es  I'm  goin' !" 

Hill  did  not  wait  to  be  urged  further,  but  car- 
ried Nita  to  the  carriage  door,  which  the  heavily 
muffled  coachman  held  open. 

"Easy  there,  with  yer  ma !"  the  latter  warned  him. 
"Now  jump  in  yerself.  This  heat  is  too  fierce  to 
lay  about  in." 

The  horse,  which  had  stood  passively  under  its 
meager  blanket  for  hours,  scarcely  shifting  a  foot, 


216  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

now  scented  the  bear,  and  sidled  off  a  little,  its 
city-trained  senses  scarcely  revolting,  yet  finding  in 
that  unfamiliar  odor  some  warning  of  danger,  and 
the  two  men  noted  the  action. 

"What  about  the  bear?"  gasped  Hill. 

From  within  the  saloon  came  sounds  which  indi- 
cated that  Mikey  had  discovered  the  trick  played 
upon  him. 

"Whoa,  my  baby!"  roared  the  happy  cabby. 
"Push  the  damn  bear  inside!" 

In  a  moment  it  was  done,  not  without  protest 
from  Mr.  Jones.  And  as  the  bony  horse,  tossing  his 
old  head  about  with  many  a  suspicious  sniff,  set  off 
at  a  tremendous  pace,  the  window  of  the  saloon  flew 
open  to  disgorge  the  rotund  figure  of  Mikey,  whx> 
shouted  an  unintelligible  threat,  or  command,  upon 
the  snow-filled  air. 

Rocking  and  swaying,  the  cab  sped  down-town, 
the  old  horse  giving  as  good  an  imitation  of  a  run- 
away as  lay  within  his  depleted  prowess,  the  occu- 
pants of  the  vehicle  tossing,  helplessly  about  in  a 
confused  mass  of  gipsy,  man  and  bear,  together 
with  a  great  rattling  of  the  chain  and  pole.  Out- 
side, upon  the  box,  the  joyous  cabby  sang  about  a 
girl,  who,  if  the  song  was  to  be  believed,  was  wait- 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  217 

ing  for  him  by  the  Suwanee  River  (or  some  river). 
We  take  it  he  really  referred  to  the  cook  in  ninety- 
odd  street.  The  horse,  unable  to  understand  why  it 
could  not  out-distance  that  bear  smell,  continued  to 
hurry,  much  to  its  owner's  delight.  Half-way  to 
Fourteenth  Street,  he  dropped  the  little  front  win- 
dow and  stuck  his  head  in. 

"C.  Murphy  thinks  the  bear's  a-follerin'  of  him," 
he  informed  Hill.  "I'd  like  to  git  that  there  animal 
as  a  permanent  institution.  We  ain't  gone  so  fast 


in  years 


Whereat,  owing  to  lack  of  guidance,  "C.  Murphy" 
nearly  collided  with  a  street  lamp,  thereby  demand- 
ing the  cabby's  head,  which  was  promptly  with- 
drawn, and  its  jovial  attention  fixed  upon  its  proper 
affairs. 

Meanwhile,  Old  Nita  had  not  fully  recovered,  but 
lay  against  Hill's  shoulder,  moaning  so  pitifully 
that  he  began  to  fear  that  she  was  more  severely 
hurt  than  he  had  at  first  supposed,  and  to  regret 
that  he  had  not  let  her  be  sent  to  a  hospital,  no  mat- 
ter what  consequences  might  result. 

"By  jove!  Flower  Hospital  is  not  far  from  here," 
he  muttered,  peering  through  the  frosted  window. 
"I  believe  we  had  better  go  there." 


218  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

At  sound  of  his  voice  the  old  woman,  who  seemed 
to  have  understood  what  he  said,  roused  herself  with 
a  fearful  effort  and  protested. 

"No,  no!"  she  gasped.  "Back  to  Beau-Jean! 
Not  hospital !  Promise!" 

"Very  well,  I  promise!"  he  said. 

An  expression  of  the  most  intense  relief  relaxed 
the  muscles  of  her  face,  and  she  seemed,  soon  after, 
to  faint.  At  Twelfth  Street  the  cab  came  to  a  sud- 
den halt  beside  the  curb,  and  the  driver,  dismount- 
ing from  the  box,  opened  the  door  and  looked  in. 

"This  is  where  my  stable  is  at,"  he  announced. 
"Right  down  the  block.  Guess  you'll  have  ter  git 
out.  How's  yer  ma?"  he  added  solicitously,  as 
though  to  repair  his  rudeness  in  ejecting  them. 

"Pretty  bad,"  said  Hill.  "Gone  off  again,  I'm 
afraid." 

The  cabby  wrinkled  up  his  face  with  a  perplexed 
stare,  and  removing  his  hat,  scratched  his  head  with 
one  heavily  mittened  hand. 

"I  really  hadn't  oughter,"  said  he,  "considerin' 
the  hour  and  all,  but  I  guess  it's  gotter  be  done. 
Whereabouts  do  you  live?" 

"Little  Jones  Street,"  said  Hill,  and  gave  the  num- 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  219 

her.  "I've  a  bit  of  money.  Could  you  get  us  around 
there,  do  you  think?" 

"Well,"  said  the  cabby,  "I  might  as  well  make  a 
night  of  it,  I  suppose.  Take  good  care  of  yer  ma, 
now,  and  I'll  have  yer  home  in  a  jiffy !" 

Then  he  remounted  the  box,  and  soon  they  were 
wending  a  tortuous  way  through  the  silent  squalor 
of  lower  Greenwich  village.  They  stopped  at  last 
before  a  tall  tenement,  a  building  of  uncompromising 
ugliness,  whose  intricate  network  of  fire-escapes  was 
hung  now  with  a  fairy  drapery  of  white. 

Whining  with  disgust  at  being  again  disturbed, 
Mr.  Jones  jumped  out  clumsily,  followed  by  Hill, 
who,  with  the  cabby's  help,  carried  the  unconscious 
Nita  into  the  unlighted  hallway,  which  gaped,  sinis- 
ter and  forbidding,  under  the  nethermost  of  the 
crowded  fire-escape  balconies.  Here  Hill,  one  arm 
about  his  charge,  fumbled  in  his  breast  for  his  wal- 
let. But  the  cabby  put  up  a  restraining  hand. 

"Never  mind  the  coin !"  he  laughed.  "Youse 
need  it  more'n  me,  I  guess.  Better  let  the  doctor 
take  it;  you're  a-goin'  ter  need  ter  call  him  in! 
Yer  seem  all  to  the  good,  even  if  yer  be  dagoes !" 

"You're  a  gentleman!"  exclaimed  Hill,  holding 


220  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

out  his  hand.  "Many  thanks  for  your  kindness. 
You  seem  very  happy.  May  I  ask  why?  I  should 
like  to  congratulate  you." 

"Oh !  it  ain't  nothin'  much,"  said  the  cabby  sheep- 
ishly. "I  ain't  goin'  to  be  married,  thet's  all!" 

Wherewith  he  was  gone,  and  Hill,  without  stop- 
ping to  ponder  upon  the  content  of  this  odd  reply, 
set  himself  to  carrying  Nita  up  the  stairway.  At 
the  first  landing  he  stopped  and  knocked.  The  door 
was  presently  opened  by  Beau- Jean,  a  scantily-clad 
colossus,  silhouetted  in  the  aperture  against  the  light 
of  a  single  candle.  With  an  exclamation  of  dismay, 
the  man  stepped  back  to  admit  Hill  and  his  burden, 
and  the  painter,  staggering  across  the  tiny  room,  de- 
posited Nita  upon  a  ragged  bed  that  stood  beside 
the  cook  stove. 

"Holy  mother!"  breathed  Beau-Jean.  "Is  she 
dead?" 

"No!    Where  are  the  women?"  asked  Hill. 

In  response  to  the  question  Guneviere  raised  her- 
self from  her  pallet  of  quilts  in  the  opposite  cor- 
ner, a  sturdy  unmodern  figure,  with  head  swathed 
for  sleeping.  With  entire  unconcern  for  her  negli- 
gee, she  arose  and  came  to  the  assistance  of  the  older 
woman. 


SUNDRY   ADVENTURES  221 

"God  save  us!  she  is  too  ancient  to  survive  such 
injury!"  she  exclaimed,  examining  a  swelling  which 
was  now  quite  obvious  on  the  crone's  forehead. 
"Hermania!  Anna!  come!" 

From  a  tiny  inner  closet  came  Hermania,  clad  as 
for  the  day,  save  for  the  absence  of  shoes,  and  her 
forehead-band  of  coins,  which  was  at  this  moment 
reposing  in  her  bosom  for  greater  comfort  with  no 
less  safety.  After  her  came  Carlos,  sleep-stupid  and 
annoyed.  In  a  moment  both  women  were  busy  over 
the  prostrated  form  of  the  injured  one;  and  to  the 
men  Hill  was  giving  an  account  of  the  adventure 
that  had  brought  them  to  such  a  pass.  They  lis- 
tened without  being  able  to  throw  the  smallest  light 
upon  the  subject,  nor  identify  the  enemy  who  had 
assaulted  the  old  lady  in  so  cowardly  a  fashion.  By 
the  time  all  was  done  that  could  be  done  for  Nita, 
and  she  lay  more  easily,  Anna  appeared  from 
the  windowless  bedroom  at  the  rear,  where  she  had 
stopped  to  put  a  ribbon  in  her  hair  before  emerg- 
ing into  the  light,  which  would  reveal  her  to  Rico's 
eyes.  Her  lover  followed  on  her  heels  and  joined 
the  men,  while  his  mistress  took  her  now  useless 
offers  of  help  to  the  bedside. 

"Which  of  you  has  ever  heard  of  her  enemy?" 


222  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

Hill  was  asking.  "None,  really?  And  has  she  no 
kin  whom  we  should  call  upon  for  help  ?" 

"Nay,"  said  Beau-Jean,  the  ponderous,  "she  is 
from  the  America-of-the-South.  If  she  hath  kin, 
they  are  too  far  away  to  levy  claim  upon." 

"America-of-the-South !     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Venezuela,  I  think,"  said  Rico. 

"But  how  is  it  possible  that  no  one  knows  any- 
thing further  about  her?"  cried  Hill.  "You  have 
all  been  with  her  for  years.  Surely  you  must  know 
— or  the  women  will,  perhaps." 

"No  one  but  Pedro  knows,"  said  Rico  positively. 
"They  came  together;  we  all  know  that  much.  But 
beyond  that — !" 

He  waved  his  hand  with  a  gesture  expressive  of 
infinite  vagueness. 

"Then,  if  anything  threatens  her,  it  may  also 
affect  Pedro,"  said  Hill. 

"Perhaps  the  Old  One  will  speak  soon,"  suggested 
Beau-Jean,  "and  then  we  can  find  out." 

It  was  a  hope  to  which  they  all  agreed,  but  which 
was  not  to  be  fulfilled  during  the  watches  of  that 
night.  As  it  became  evident  that  rest  was  the  most 
important  thing  for  her,  and  that  little  or  nothing 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  223 

could  be  done  until  the  morrow,  the  watchers,  on« 
by  one,  betook  themselves  to  bed. 

Where  but  a  moment  since  the  ribbon-girded  head 
of  Anna  had  shone  like  some  rich  finely-carved  gem 
against  the  soiled  and  tawdry  paper  on  the  wall, 
the  flickering  fitful  light  danced  upon  the  silly  pat- 
tern, for  she  had  gone — useless,  beautiful,  as  though 
she  had  indeed  been  a  jeweled  ornament,  snatched 
away  by  the  hand  of  her  lover.  Carlos,  taking  the 
money  that  the  day  just  past  had  brought  to  the 
late  comers,  tucked  it  into  the  leather  bag  he  carried 
in  his  breast,  and  squabbling  with  his  wife,  was 
ejected  in  company  with  Beau-Jean,  while  the  re- 
maining women  prepared  to  share  the  watches  at 
the  sick-bed. 

The  little  room  was  close  with  odors  of  garlic,  of 
clothing,  of  bears,  of  living,  and  the  tallow  light 
flung  the  shadows  in  wavering  masses  over  the 
scanty  objects  with  which  the  place  was  furnished. 
There  were  the  cot,  the  mass  of  quilts  upon  the  floor, 
a  corner  sink,  a  stove  still  cluttered  with  the  imple- 
ments that  had  served  to  prepare  the  evening 
meal,  a  battered  chair  or  two,  and  a  large  deal 
table.  At  the  single  tightly-closed  window  that 


224  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

gave  upon  the  snow-filled  fire-escape,  hung  a  cheap 
lace  curtain,  against  which  leaned  the  three  bear- 
staves;  while  from  the  cornice  hung  Rico's  flute. 
But  of  all  its  contents,  the  spirit  that  pervaded  the 
place  was  its  most  striking  feature;  it  was  a  cham- 
ber where  reality  of  thought  and  action  was  the  rule 
of  the  day,  instead  of  being  the  alarming  dreaded 
exception.  And  this  spirit  pushed  back  the  narrow 
walls  until  they  encompassed  the  earth. 

Hill  stood  in  the  doorway  looking  at  the  upper 
half  of  the  old  woman's  unconscious  face,  where  the 
light  fell  upon  her  hooked  nose  and  wrinkled  eye- 
lids. As  he  looked  he  heaved  a  sigh  of  admiration, 
closed  the  door,  muttered  something  about  having 
"Rembrandt  skinned  a  mile",  and  went  off  to  the 
attic  where  he  and  Mr.  Jones  dwelt  in  brotherly 
love  and  in  greater  order  than  prevailed  below 

The  next  day  a  doctor  came  and  pronounced  that 
there  was  nothing  alarming  in  Nita's  injuries,  but 
that  she  must  rest  for  a  few  days  and  have  great 
care.  Then  he  took  most  of  their  money,  and  hav- 
ing drugged  Nita,  after  the  custom  of  certain  beasts 
who  prey  upon  the  not  infrequent  victim  to  be  found 
among  the  tenements,  proceeded  to  make  a  case 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  225 

for  himself  whereby  he  could  come  daily  until  his 
patient's  finances  were  exhausted.  And  for  several 
days  his  little  plan  succeeded,  for  Guneviere  was 
faithful  to  the  nursing,  and  administered  the  drug 
with  great  regularity.  On  the  days  when  Hermania 
remained  at  home  to  care  for  the  old  woman,  she, 
too,  was  painstaking  and  vigilant.  But  there  came 
a  time  when  it  was  Anna's  turn  to  watch,  and  Anna 
forgot  to  give  the  "medicine".  For  poor  little  Anna 
wept  at  being  separated  from  Rico,  and  weeping, 
fell  asleep.  When  she  awoke,  the  day  was  gone, 
and  what  was  more,  Nita  was  gone  also.  The  bed 
was  made,  the  old  woman's  clothing  had  disap- 
peared, and  on  the  table  the  empty  coffee-cup  and 
plate,  showed  that  Nita  had  not  gone  hungry ! 

Now  the  doctor  had  been  a  severe  drain  upon  the 
resources  of  these  people,  and  just  at  present  Hill 
was  bringing  in  the  most  money,  for  he  added  to  his 
exhibition,  sketching  portraits  at  twenty-five  cents 
apiece.  He  was  usually  the  first  to  set  out,  and  last 
to  return,  and  this  was  more  regularly  the  case  since 
Nita's  illness,  for  the  two  older  women  were  much 
occupied,  and  Anna's  condition  was  delicate  as  she 
was  expecting  the  advent  of  an  addition  to  the  troop. 


226  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

It  so  happened,  then,  that  on  the  day  just  recorded 
above,  he  had  gone  forth  even  before  it  was  decided 
that  Anna  should  remain  with  Nita. 

High-banked  on  either  hand  lay  the  now  sullied 
snow.  Up-town,  where  the  carriages  go,  and  glit- 
tering automobiles  slip  smoothly  along  in  shining 
array,  carrying  gorgeous  ladies  and  indifferent  gen- 
tlemen, the  streets  were  cleaned  by  now;  but  down 
here,  where  the  neighborhood  must  go  a-foot,  it 
matters  little  what  they  walk  upon  because  they  are 
already  so  soiled  and  bedraggled  when  they  sally 
forth !  So  the  snow  had  been  let  lie  until  it  was 
black  and  hideous. 

Between  this  dirty  rampart  and  the  teeming 
houses  on  his  other  hand,  walked  Sam  Hill,  specula- 
tive, absorbed  in  thoughts  of  Iris,  dejectedly  thank- 
ful that  the  need  for  money  was  driving  him  to 
work,  for  he  was  firmly  resolved  not  to  draw  upon 
that  bank-account,  which  would  inevitably  bring 
him  in  touch  with  his  former  life.  It  was  terrible, 
but  not  even  work  could  wholly  drive  her  from  his 
mind.  Iris,  the  golden!  How  cruel,  how  cold! 
What  had  he  not  suffered  at  her  hands !  That 
period  of  his  life  was  done  with  forever.  No  one 
could  even  take  her  place.  How  he  loved  her !  How 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  227 

sweet  she  was!     No!  he  didn't  care  a  rap  for  her, 
the  silly  child!  Yes,  confound  it,  he  did! 

And  so  on,  past  tenements,  past  gloomy  little 
shops,  past  meager  wares  set  forth  at  cellar  doors,' 
on  and  on  he  went,  absorbed  in  thought ;  and  behind 
him  shuffled  Mr.  Jones,  at  whom  the  children  stared 
and  pointed;  the  little  dirty  children  for  whom  there 
was  not  room  in  the  great  schools.  Women  with 
wrinkled  faces  and  coarse  brown  wigs  stared  from 
beneath  their  shawls,  or  from  under  the  massive 
bundles  that  they  were  carrying  homeward  from 
the  jobber,  that  the  family  might  be  employed  there- 
by in  the  "home" ;  on  and  on  past  steep  and  totter- 
ing door-step  on  the  little  winding  streets.  Down 
a  back  alley  they  plunged  then,  man  and  bear,  and 
emerging  upon  a  wide  slatternly  avenue,  pushed 
back  a  slatted  swinging  door,  and  entered  a  saloon. 

There  were  shining  mirrors  within,  and  polished 
woods,  with  a  fine  bar,  all  arrayed  with  glasses  and 
bottles  in  decorative  and  tempting  array.  Here  was 
a  group  of  men  in  a  post-midnight  mood,  hilarious 
and  ready  to  part  with  small  change.  Sam  made 
Mr.  Jones  dance  for  them,  turn  somersaults,  sit  in 
an  armchair  and  hold  a  pipe  between  his  teeth,  kiss 
him,  be  dead,  and  perform  many  other  intellectual 


228  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

feats  beyond  the  common  acquirement  of  bears. 
The  fruit  of  this  effort  was  only  sixty-one  cents,  and 
so,  to  leave  nothing  untried  on  the  immediate 
ground  of  operation,  Hill  drew  the  barkeeper's 
portrait;  an  effort  which  pleased  the  watchers  more 
than  the  patron,  for  Hill,  being  somewhat  absent- 
minded  on  Iris'  account  forgot  to  be  flattering,  and 
drew  a  coarse  fat  Irishman  in  lieu  of  a  sleek  hand- 
some one.  However,  he  was  paid  a  quarter  for  it 
(a  quarter  of  a  dollar  for  an  original  Hill,  and  a 
portrait  order,  at  that!  Modern  society  has  paid  a 
hundred  dollars  apiece  for  just  such  sketches  from 
the  identical  pencil,  as  all  the  world  knows),  and  the 
resources  of  this  particular  saloon  being  exhausted, 
they  left. 

The  day,  from  being  overcast,  was  growing  into 
one  of  glistening  blues  and  whites,  and  the  thought 
of  a  wide  sapphire  horizon-line,  unhampered  by  the 
irregularities  of  building-tops,  drove  him  toward 
the  water-front,  while  in  the  depths  of  his  conscious- 
ness lurked  a  determination  to  steal  out  to  an  open 
meadow  before  the  day  was  done.  Meanwhile  the 
little  streets  encompassed  him  like  a  maze;  and  he 
thought  and  thought  of  Iris.  A  hand-organ  reeled 
off  an  insinuating  rag-time  tune,  and  of  his  own  ac- 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  229 

cord,  Mr.  Jones  began  to  dance.  Sam  permitted 
him  to  do  so  for  the  laughter  of  the  children,  the 
sole  reward  to  be  obtained  from  such  an  audience. 
Then  he  strolled  away,  ever  toward  the  river,  in  a 
northerly  direction  that  would  ultimately  lead  to- 
ward the  open  country.  And  all  the  while  Iris  filled 
his  heart  and  mind,  as,  indeed,  she  had  done  almost 
every  moment  since  his  angry  parting  from  her. 

It  came  to  pass,  that,  being  occupied  with  the 
thought  of  a  red-haired  girl,  such  as  bore  locks  of  a 
similar  color  arrested  his  eye  more  frequently  and 
with  a  more  personal  interest  than  did  any  other 
type :  and  so  it  followed  in  natural  sequence,  that 
when  he  caught  sight  of  a  Titian  head  (elaborately 
puffed,  and  curled,  to  be  sure,  and  quite  unlike 
Iris'  gleaming  braids)  behind  the  confusion  of  fem- 
inine articles  of  apparel  in  the  window  of  a  tiny 
notion-shop,  he  fancied  a  resemblance,  and  stopped 
to  stare.  And  equally  inevitable  was  it  that  she 
should  feel  that  stare  through  the  window  glass  and 
over  the  mass  of  articles  therein  displayed,  as  people 
have  a  way  of  feeling  a  stare;  and  looking  up,  she 
smiled  upon  the  handsome  gentleman  whose  gaze 
was  riveted  upon  her.  She  was  no  more  like  unto 
Iris  than  the  cinnamon-pink  to  the  Ascension  lily; 


230  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

nor  was  she  at  all  pretty.  But  Sam  obeyed  a  sudden 
impulse  and  entered  the  tiny  shop,  followed  by  Mr. 
Jones. 

Together  they  stood  before  the  little  counter  upon 
which  were  piled  coarse  stockings,  underwear  with 
cheap  lace  trimming,  unsubstantial  neckwear,  boxes 
of  ruching,  gingham  aprons,  bandannas  (printed  on 
one  side  only)  and  the  headless,  armless,  stock- 
inet torso  of  an  extraordinary  figure,  presumably 
female,  upon  which  was  laced  a  purple  satin  corset. 
Overhead,  petticoats  of  bengaline  and  sateen  waists 
hung  like  banners  at  a  festival,  and  neckties,  alter- 
nating with  balls  of  wool  and  mending  cotton,  fes- 
tooned the  edges  of  the  shelves.  A  case  of  many- 
colored  spool-silks,  like  a  brilliant  treasure-chest, 
and  made  up  of  shallow  drawers  such  as  gems  are 
kept  in,  formed  the  background  against  which  the 
shop-girl  stood  as  she  greeted  him,  while  before  her 
was  the  only  unoccupied  part  of  the  counter — a 
twelve-inch  square  of  painted  wood  upon  which 
the  tips  of  her  long  freckled  fingers  rested.  She 
stood  there,  saying  nothing,  but  smiling.  What 
should  he  ask  for?  It  was  awkward,  decidedly. 
Yet  here  he  was,  and  somehow  or  other  the  situation 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  231 

must  be  managed.  Very  vaguely  he  uttered  what 
seemed  to  him  an  inanity. 

"I — I  would  like  some  buttonholes,"  he  stam- 
mered, and  then  blushed  furiously  at  having  said 
such  nonsense. 

But  the  young  lady  seemed  in  nowise  disconcerted 
by  the  extraordinary  request. 

"White  or  black  ?"  she  inquired  calmly. 

"Eh?"  said  Hill  incredulously. 

"I  said,  did  you  wish  white  or  black  button- 
holes?" she  smiled. 

"But — but,  great  Scott!  you  don't  mean  to  say 
you  actually  have  'em?"  gasped  Sam. 

"Of  course.  This  is  a  notion-shop;  didn't  you 
read  the  sign?" 

"Notion-shop!  I  should  say  it  was!  How  the 
deuce  can  a  hole  have  a  color?  Is  that  one  of  the 
notions?"  said  he. 

"I  thought  you  didn't  really  want  them,"  said  the 
girl,  "but  we  do  keep  'em — embroidered  on  strips, 
you  know,  of  black  or  white  stuff — and  you  sew 
'em  in !" 

"Oh!"  said  the  enlightened  male,  "would  you 
really  not  mind  if  I  don't  have  any,  though?  I 


232  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

don't  really  need  them.  You  see,  you  smiled,  so  I 
just  ..." 

"So  I  guessed,"  said  the  girl,  "but  it  ain't  any  use. 
I'm  engaged." 

"Ah !"  said  Hill,  suddenly  relieved  of  the  absurd 
situation  which  he  had  brought  upon  himself.  Then 
he  added  gallantly,  "You  don't  expect  me  to  be 
surprised,  do  you?  He  is  such  a  very  lucky  fellow!" 

"He  is  a  rover,"  she  said  plaintively. 

"A  what?"  queried  Hill  politely. 

"A  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth,"  she  eluci- 
dated. "He  is  in  the  lunch-wagon  business,  and  not 
havin'  a  regular  stand,  it  takes  him  to  distant  parts 
a  lot.  You  seem  to  be  the  sort  that  travels,  too,"  she 
added,  "you  an'  the  bear.  Ain't  he  the  cute  little 
feller!" 

Hill  gave  a  huge  sigh,  and  looked  at  her  senti- 
mentally. 

"I  wish  you  would  say  as  much  to  me,"  he  told 
her  sweetly,  and  then  felt  almost  as  much  of  an  ass 
as  he  looked. 

But  the  lady  spurned  him  with  the  air  of  a  trag- 
edy queen. 

"You  shouldn't  ought  to  say  such  things,"  said 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  233 

she  loftily.  "No  matter  what  chances  offer,  I  am 
ever  true  to  Mr.  Lovejoy." 

The  plain  little  lady's  charms  were  so  few  (be- 
yond the  color  of  her  hair)  that  Hill  thought  the 
dangers  that  awaited  her  at  the  hands  of  adoring 
swains  were  probably  non  est.  But  this  conception 
seemed  so  at  variance  with  her  attitude,  that  he 
played  up,  and  leaning  over  the  counter  in  an  atti- 
tude of  intense  admiration,  said  aloud  that  her 
temptations  must  be  many. 

"Mr.  Lovejoy  takes  a  great  risk  in  being  away  so 
much,"  he  added;  "some  day  he  will  return  to  find 
that  you  have  been  stolen,  kidnaped,  Miss, 
Miss  .  . 

"Call  me  Lola,"  said  she;  "my  name  is  Lizzy 
Hinkle,  but  I  like  Lola  La  Farge  better.  I  read  it 
in  a  book." 

"Miss  La  Farge,  you  are  a  wonder,"  said  Hill 
sincerely.  "When  is  the  doughty  lunch-wagoner 
going  to  marry  you  ?" 

"Soon's  he  can  get  the  money,"  she  confided  to 
him. 

"And  shall  you  join  him  in  his  roving  life,  when 
that  happy  day  arrives?"  asked  Hill. 


234  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Yes!"  she  sighed.  "It  must  be  lovely  to  travel. 
I  got  this  from  him,  recent.  You  see  it's  posted  clear 
over  in  Jersey.  And  this  one  is  from  Yonkers.  How 
I  shall  enjoy  seeing  the  world !" 

She  gave  two  picture  postal  cards  into  his  hand. 
They  were  warm  and  somewhat  crumpled  from  be- 
ing carried  inside  her  pink  shirt-waist,  and  had  evi- 
dently been  read  to  shabbiness.  He  took  them,  be- 
lieving her  to  be  joking  on  the  question  of  journeys, 
but  her  earnest  face  betrayed  the  truth.  Her  lover's 
wanderings  were,  to  her  mind,  travel.  Hill  exam- 
ined the  bits  of  pasteboard  carefully  in  order  to 
gain  time  in  which  to  compose  his  expression.  One 
of  them  bore  a  view  of  the  Grand  Hotel,  Newark, 
in  colors  never  yet  seen  upon  a  building  made  by 
hands;  the  other  had  the  legend  "I  am  thinking  of 
you"  printed  upon  it  in  red  ink. 

"Have  you  never  traveled  at  all?"  he  asked  as 
soon  as  he  dared  to  raise  his  eyes. 

"Oh!  yes!"  she  answered.  "I've  been  to  Coney 
Island  twice.  But  I've  never  been  up-town.  And 
I've  always  wanted  to  see  Harlem,  too.  I've  heard 
such  a  lot  about  it." 

"Surely  you're  kidding  me?"  he  asked. 

"No,  I  ain't!"  she  disclaimed.    "I  was  born  right 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  235 

around  on  Eighth  Avenue,  and  I  know  more'n  one 
that's  been  away  less  than  me.  And  my  ma  is  terri- 
ble strict,  too.  She's  never  let  me  go  nowhere.  Be- 
sides, there's  the  shop.  I've  been  minding  that  ever 
since  I  left  school." 

"I  don't  wonder  you  want  to  get  away!"  ex- 
claimed Sam. 

"When  I  can  go  honest!"  she  added.  "But  mean- 
while I  do  love  to  get  picture-postals !  It's  next  best 
to  goin'  yourself.  I  think  this  hotel  must  be  swell, 
don't  you?  Round  here  there  ain't  so  much  color, 
is  there?" 

She  held  up  the  lithograph  horror  admiringly. 

"No,  not  so  much  color,"  assented  Hill;  "and  I'm 
afraid  that  even  if  one  went  all  the  way  to  Newark, 
one  would  find  there  post-cards  depicting  yet  more 
distant  spots  which  would  seem  more  colored  than 
the  surroundings  of  this  wonderful  hotel.  But  such 
is  life!  However,  may  I  send  you  a  postal  or  two 
if  I  happen  to  wander  to  some  far-off  place — say 
Bronxville,  for  instance — or  would  Mr.  Lovejoy 
object?" 

"Oh!  that  would  be  grand!"  said  Lola,  the 
freckled.  "Thank  you  awfully,  Mr.  .  .  .  What 
was  the  name?" 


236  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Hill,"  said  Sam,  who  usually  answered  so  impul- 
sively that  he  seldom  remembered  to  lie. 

"Mr.  Hill,  you  are  real  kind,"  she  beamed.  "Mr. 
Lovejoy,  he  won't  have  no  objections,  I  guess.  Any- 
way, he  won't  know." 

Though  not  pretty,  she  was  a  sweet  little  thing. 

"True,"  said  Hill.  "There  are  many  simple  in- 
nocent occurrences  that  don't  hurt  us  if  we  don't 
know  about  them.  For  instance,  Mr.  Lovejoy 
couldn't  object  because  he  wouldn't  know  if  I 
.  .  .  hum!" 

Here  Hill  leaned  very  far  over  the  counter,  and 
Lola  leaned  very  far  toward  him,  doubtless  to  dis- 
cover what  he  was  referring  to,  which  she  quickly 
did,  for  he  kissed  her  lightly  upon  the  lips. 

Then  he  turned,  and  went  out,  hurriedly,  much 
astonished  at  himself  and  leaving  Miss  Lola  La 
Farge  alias  Lizzy  Hinkle,  equally  astounded, 
though  not  so  much  at  what  had  happened,  as  at  her 
own  lack  of  any  proper  distress  and  regret.  .  .  . 
A  harmless,  unaccountable  little  incident  it  was,  one 
of  the  things  that  somehow  do  manage  to  happen, 
and  leave  us  surprised,  perhaps,  but  none  the  worse, 
and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  none  the  less  faithful  than 
before. 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  237 

So  Lola  tucked  her  post-cards  into  the  bosom  of 
her  pink  shirt-waist,  straightened  her  ruffled  red 
hair,  and  put  away  the  buttonholes.  After  all,  one 
does  not  need  to  have  been  to  Harlem  to  be  edu- 
cated. .  .  . 

As  for  Hill,  he  wandered  off  toward  the  river. 

When  noon  came,  he  stopped  at  a  dairy,  and  ob- 
taining milk  and  doughnuts,  sat  down  (by  permis- 
sion of  the  proprietor)  upon  the  door-sill  of  that 
exit  which  led  into  the  back  yard,  and  the  two  men 
fell  into  conversation.  For  a  while  the  talk  was  de- 
sultory, for  customers  came  and  went,  but  at  length, 
this  being  the  slack  hour,  they  talked  more  consecu- 
tively and,  falling  upon  the  tariff,  became  absorbed. 
Suddenly  there  came  a  crash  from  the  shop  behind 
them,  and  they  rushed  in,  just  quickly  enough  to  see 
Mr.  Jones,  who  had  overturned  the  protecting  glass 
case,  waddling  off  into  the  street,  his  paws  filled 
with  comb-honey  which  he  had  stolen  from  the 
counter. 

"Stop,  thief !"  yelled  the  dairyman. 

"Shut  up!  you'll  collect  a  crowd!"  yelled  Hill. 
"Here,  Jonesy!  Here,  Jonesy!  come  back,  you  vil- 
lain, sir!" 


238  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Hi!  stop  him,  stop  him!"  shouted  the  dairyman, 
dancing  upon  the  door-sill,  but  making  no  effort  to 
run  after  and  interfere  with  Mr.  Jones.  Already  the 
neighborhood  was  beginning  to  take  notice,  and  a 
little  band  had  gathered  interestedly  about  the  shop, 
while  half-way  down  the  block  a  second  group  was 
following  the  sedate  progress  of  the  bear;  maintain- 
ing a  respectful  distance,  the  while. 

"Keep  quiet!  Cut  it  out!"  said  Hill  to  the  dairy- 
man roughly.  "Here's  all  the  money  I've  got.  I'm 
sorry  the  case  got  smashed,  but  arresting  me  won't 
do  a  bit  of  good.  I'll  send  you  more  money  later." 

With  which  he  rushed  out  after  his  animal,  leav- 
ing the  little  milk-seller  still  dancing  for  rage  upon 
the  door-sill,  his  white  apron  fluttering  in  the  wind. 

At  the  street  corner  sat  Mr.  Jones,  busily  engaged 
in  consuming  his  stolen  sweets.  With  great  difficulty 
he  was  persuaded  to  part  with  some  of  the  remain- 
der, which  a  watchful  urchin  instantly  seized  upon 
and  ran  off  with,  followed  by  most  of  the  little 
crowd ;  and  the  bear,  dropping  upon  all  fours,  sub- 
mitted to  being  chained  to  his  master,  and  off  they 
went  toward  the  river,  leaving  a  sticky  trail  upon 
the  pavements  as  they  passed. 

Over  the  housetops  the  gray  clouds  of  commerce 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  239 

were  flying  to  the  unsullied  heavens.  Where,  oh! 
where  was  a  wide  horizon-line?  He  turned  up-town. 
All  his  money  was  gone  again,  and  more  he  must 
have  before  returning  to  the  tenement  where  Old 
Nita  lay  ill.  A  gradual  progress  brought  him  to 
Riverside  Drive,  and  he  had  by  then  collected  over 
a  dollar.  That  was  very  little.  Perhaps  the  chil- 
dren of  the  rich  would  pay. 

Along  the  steep  embankment  he  paraded  his  bear, 
and  drew  crowd  after  crowd  of  laughing  young- 
sters, but  the  returns  were  small.  A  ferry-boat  scut- 
tled into  dock,  and  the  asphalt  walk  bringing  him, 
on  an  abrupt  turn,  to  the  landing's  very  gate,  he 
followed  an  impulse  (and  the  bear)  and  stepped 
aboard. 

"I  shall  go  to  Jersey  City,"  said  he,  "and  buy  a 
postal  card." 

It  proved  a  profitable  trip,  for  the  passengers 
gathered  about  Mr.  Jones  delightedly,  and  when  the 
hat  was  passed  (the  bear  did  it)  another  dollar  had 
been  gained.  Then  the  farther  shore  was  reached, 
and  the  painter  scrambled  up  the  steep  roadway  to 
the  top  of  the  cliffs. 

"Now  that  I  have  done  my  duty,"  said  he  to  Mr. 
Jones,  "I  shall  loaf;  I  must  loaf.  I  must  think  of  her 


240  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

uninterruptedly  for  a  while.  You  know  whom  I 
mean,  Mr.  Jones :  I'll  leave  her  unnamed,  as  should 
be  the  case  between  gentlemen,  but  you  will  under- 
stand. I  simply  must  have  breathing  space  in  which 
to  think  of  her,  and  look  at  a  wide  expanse  of  sky. 
We  shall  walk  along  these  cliffs  until  we  are  weary. 
Then  we  shall  wander  down  toward  the  evil  metrop- 
olis and  take  a  ferry  that  will  bring  us  out  near 
home." 

Mr.  Jones  grunted  in  reply,  and  they  set  off. 

And  so  it  came  about  that,  what  with  one  thing 
and  another,  Hill  remained  in  Jersey  until  night 
fell,  ate  his  supper  from  a  crowded  lunch-wagon 
near  the  docks,  and  afterward  gave  the  wagon  itself 
a  minute  and  critical  examination.  The  result  of 
this  last  was,  that  as  soon  as  he  had  done,  he  went 
to  the  nearest  news-stand.  Here  he  bought  a  post- 
card upon  which  was  depicted  a  pea-green  likeness 
of  the  local  soldiers'  monument,  and  wrote  in  the 
space  for  correspondence — "I  had  supper  to-night 
with  Mr.  Lovejoy.  His  wagon  is  superb,  and  at  the 
present  rate  of  the  business  he  has,  I  shall  expect  a 
wedding  invitation  inside  a  month."  Then  he 
signed  his  own  name,  appended  the  Jones  Street 
address,  and  posted  it.  Then,  much  exhilarated  by 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  241 

his  "long  thought"  of  Iris,  and  the  piquant  coinci- 
dence that  had  befallen  him,  he  determined  to 
turn  the  night  to  profit,  and  set  to  work  among  the 
river-front  resorts. 

At  midnight  the  Jersey  shipyards  are  very  still, 
and  down  toward  where  the  docks  are  fewer,  and 
farther  apart,  it  is  quiet  indeed,  once  darkness  has 
fallen.  Here  and  there  one  hears  the  baying  of 
humanity  (so  called)  belching  out  from  the  swing- 
ing doorway  of  some  low-ceilinged,  evil-lighted 
den,  the  resort  of  poverty  and  brute  strength,  where 
the  enormous  energies  engendered  by  outdoor 
work,  find  vent  under  the  name  of  recreation. 
Against  the  outer  darkness  loom  masses  yet  more 
dark,  and  sometimes  a  crimson  light,  like  a  dull 
jewel,  smokes  at  the  crest  of  these,  when  the  inde- 
finable bulk  is  a  ship.  The  giant  machinery  of  coal- 
yards  and  gas-tanks  are  but  shadows  upon  the 
shades  of  night  at  this  hour,  their  strength  a  hypo- 
thetical thing  that  you  allow  or  ignore  at  will. 
Long  spaces  of  cobbled  irregular  paving  stretch 
away  dimly,  their  darkness  rendered  deeper  rather 
than  relieved  by  the  infrequent  lamps.  Again,  at 
wide  intervals,  a  flaring  light  illumines  a  throng  of 


242  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY. 

toilers,  who,  like  the  distorted  creatures  of  a  dream, 
rush  about  in  methodical  disorder,  accomplishing 
the  loading  of  some  vessel  that  must  sail  at  dawn. 
From  the  gaping  mouth  of  such  a  hold,  comes  a 
stream  of  fire  and  a  roar  as  of  a  prehistoric  mon- 
ster, where  the  rumbling  trucks  rush  in  and  out. 
Then  again  the  water-side  stretches  on  in  mystery, 
in  darkness  and  silence.  But  whichever  lies  before 
one,  the  darkness  or  the  inferno  of  light  and  noise, 
it  is  a  wonderful  picture;  one  to  arrest  the  observer 
with  its  vast  suggestive  quality  and  arouse  the  de- 
sire to  linger  and  watch. 

Hill  thought  of  this  when  he  came  out  from  one 
of  the  low  saloons  into  the  tingling  cold  of  night, 
and  saw  the  strange  panorama  that  melted  away  on 
either  hand.  Mr.  Jones  did  not  agree  that  the  ship- 
ping was  of  any  interest  whatsoever;  he  infinitely 
preferred  the  warmth  and  gaiety  of  the  close  little 
cabaret  they  left  behind  them.  But  Hill  felt  other- 
wise, and,  being  the  more  intelligent,  had  his  way, 
and  they  walked  slowly  and  scrutinizingly  in  the 
general  direction  of  the  down-town  ferry. 

Presently  they  reached  a  small  covered  dock 
where  a  greenish  light  was  burning,  in  the  glow  of 
which  some  score  of  men  were  at  work,  loading 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  243 

great  cases  into  the  hold  of  a  small  third-  or  fourth- 
rate  steamer.  Although  the  scene  was  less  flam- 
boyant than  several  that  they  had  passed,  Hill  was 
interested  by  the  color  of  the  light,  and  the  manner 
in  which  it  fell  upon  the  group  whose  labor  it  illu- 
minated :  and  so,  unobserved  by  the  watchman,  he 
walked  out  to  a  dim  sheltered  corner  of  the  pier, 
and  stood  quite  still,  making  mental  notes  of  the 
scene  before  him. 

There  seemed  to  be  curiously  little  disorder  or 
excitement  in  connection  with  this  embarkment,  a 
fact  which  soon  impressed  itself  upon  Hill's  mind. 
Nor  did  the  men  appear  to  be  in  any  particular 
hurry.  Then  a  question  obtruded  itself.  If  they 
were  not  rushed,  why  did  they  work  so  late  at 
night?  It  was  rather  odd.  The  cargo  was  odd,  too. 
From  the  size,,  shape,  and  weight  of  the  wooden 
cases  of  which  it  principally  consisted,  the  shipment 
was  evidently  composed  of  pianos.  Where  on  earth 
could  so  many  pianos  be  going  to?  With  a  little  ef- 
fort he  remembered  the  sign  at  the  entrance  to  the 
dock — "The  Venezuela  Fruit  Steamship  Co."  Ah  I 
that  accounted  for  it!  Of  course,  it  was  only  rea- 
sonable to  suppose  that  Venezuela  turned  out  very 
few  pianos,  if  any.  How  quaint,  though!  He  be- 


244  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

gan  to  muse  upon  the  melodious  consignment,  and, 
therefore,  to  observe  the  cases  more  closely.  How 
odd  that  they  should  be  put  aboard  at  night !  Then 
another  thought  flashed  through  his  mind.  Had  he 
not  read,  or  seen  advertised  somewhere,  that  these 
steamers  sailed  only  bi-weekly?  And  this  being  a 
Monday,  they  would  not  sail  before  Wednesday. 
Why  choose  such  an  hour  for  loading  them?  How 
beastly  uncomfortable,  how  unnecessary! 

A  man  who  had  been  directing  the  work,  his  back 
toward  Hill,  now  turned  about  so  that  the  light 
shone  full  upon  his  face,  and  at  the  sight  of  it  Sam 
gave  an  involuntary  cry  of  recognition,  which,  how- 
ever, was  lost  in  the  general  noise.  It  was  Rowe! 
His  tenant!  Confound  the  man,  there  was  some- 
thing mysterious  about  him!  What  was  he  doing 
here,  and  at  such  an  hour?  The  memory  of  their 
last  meeting,  and  of  Old  Nita,  came  to  him  in  a 
flash,  and  his  hands  clenched  ominously.  Here,  per- 
haps, was  a  chance  for  retaliation !  But  before  he 
could  act  on  the  impulse,  several  things  happened 
all  at  once. 

A  piano-case,  which  was  being  lowered  from  a 
truck,  was  allowed  to  drop  in  such  a  way  that  it  split 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  245 

open.  From  the  aperture  several  objects  fell  out 
upon  the  pier.  They  were  rifles!  Field-rifles,  new 
and  shining! 

With  a  snort  of  amazement  Sam  sprang  for- 
ward, and  at  that  same  instant  he  felt  himself  seized 
upon  either  shoulder.  Looking  around,  he  saw  that 
he  was  captive  between  two  huge  longshoremen, 
who  proceeded  to  propel  him  toward  the  ship.  As 
they  came  up  with  Rowe,  who  was  cursing  roundly, 
but  had  already  managed  to  get  the  rifles  out  of 
sight,  one  of  the  ruffians  called  out:  "Here's  a  de- 
tective, mister,  disguised  as  a  dago.  We  caught  him 
spying  just  before  the  case  broke." 

With  an  oath,  Rowe  whipped  around,  and  for  a 
moment  the  two  men  stood  glaring  at  each  other. 

"Take  him  aboard,"  said  Rowe,  breathing  hard. 
"Captain's  room,  I'll  be  there  directly." 

"What  the  devil  ..."  began  Hill  furiously. 
But  he  was  cut  short  by  Rowe,  who  struck  him 
across  the  mouth. 

Dazed  by  this  needless  insult,  and  wholly  unable 
to  retaliate  because  of  his  captors,  Sam  suffered 
himself  to  be  led  aboard,  his  custodians  still  holding 
him  fast  No  sooner  was  this  done,  and  the  door 


246  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

shut  upon  them,  than  it  was  opened  again  t>  admit 
Rowe,  who  was  followed  by  a  dark  little  Sp  miard, 
presumably  one  of  the  ship's  officers. 

"Sit  down,"  commanded  Rowe,  locking  the  door. 

Hill  paid  no  attention,  standing  speechless  with 
rage.  Rowe  drew  a  revolver  from  his  hip  pocket, 
pulled  up  an  armchair  to  one  side  of  the  tatie,  and 
pointed  to  a  second  seat,  which  was  placed  <,  pposite. 
He  indicated  the  chair  with  the  muzzU  of  his 
weapon. 

"Sit  down,"  he  repeated  politely. 

Hill  sat. 

"Now,  my  dear  mysterious  landlord,'  began 
Rowe,  "I  have  at  last  discovered  your  real  t/ade.  I 
always  thought  you  were  a  rotten  painter,  but  I 
never  dreamed  that  you  were  a  detective — a  spy !" 

"But  I'm  not!"  exploded  Hill,  vainly  endeavoring 
to  appear  calm.  "Let  me  explain.  I'm  not  watch- 
ing  .  .  ." 

"Pardon  me!"  said  Rowe.  "Our  last  meeting, 
taken  in  connection  with  this  one,  explains  the  situ- 
ation far  more  fully  than  any  words  of  yours  are 
likely  to  do.  You  are  a  government  spy,  and  I  sup- 
pose you  are  chortling  at  having  caught  us  'with 
the  goods'  as  you  Americans  say." 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  247 

"I  haven't  caught  you  at  anything,  so  far  as  I 
know,  except  striking  a  tottering  old  woman!"  re- 
sponded Hill.  "And,  by  God!  I'm  going  to  make 
you  smart  for  that!  As  for  being  a  secret-service 
man — you  are  all  wrong,  there!" 

"Paugh !"  exclaimed  Rowe,  flushing  angrily, 
"what's  the  use  of  bluffing?  Why  don't  you  make 
a  show  of  arresting  us?" 

"Look  here!"  exclaimed  Hill,  restrained  from  as- 
saulting the  man  only  by  the  sight  of  the  gun  that 
the  other  was  still  caressing.  "Look  here,  you  can't 
keep  me  like  this,  you  know !  I'm  not  a  detective, 
and  I  don't  even  know  what  the  devil  you  are  mak- 
ing all  this  fuss  about." 

At  this  all  the  other  men  shouted  with  laughter. 
Rowe  leaned  over  the  table,  an  evil  leer  on  his  cun- 
ning face. 

"No  detective !  ha !  ha !"  said  he.  "You  don't  re- 
ally expect  us  to  swallow  that,  do  you  ?  Why,  next 
thing  you'll  be  telling  us  that  you  didn't  know  it 
was  contraband  to  take  arms  out  of  the  country,  eh  ?" 

Hill  sat  back,  shocked  into  momentary  silence 

"I  did  not  know  it,"  he  said  simply. 

The  quiet  that  followed  these  five  clear-cut 
ivords  was  charged  with  electricity.  Then,  Rowe, 


248  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

his  face  very  white,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  Hill,  rose  to 
his  feet. 

"By  God  !  I  believe  you  are  speaking  the  truth !" 
he  said  at  length. 

"That's  one  joke  on  you,  Ricardo,"  said  the  little 
Spanish  officer  with  a  short  mirthless  laugh. 

"Well,  he  knows  it  now,  if  he  didn't  before !"  put 
in  one  of  the  longshoremen. 

Hill  said  nothing  at  all,  but  sat  staring  at  the 
group  in  wonderment.  What  on  earth  did  it  all 
mean? 

"That's  true.  You  needn't  inform  me  of  it,"  said 
Rowe  bitterly,  "and  detective  or  not,  he'll  inform 
now  if  we  let  him  go.  But  he's  a  service  man,  all 
right,"  he  added,  his  confidence  in  himself  return- 
ing. "Wasn't  he  up  at  Mikey's?  Hell!  something 
must  be  done  with  him ;  and  something  will  be  done, 
never  fear !  I  will  get  the  Senor  Chief,  and  he  shall 
help  us  decide  the  matter." 

The  little  officer  nodded,  and  Rowe,  slipping  out 
of  the  cabin,  closed  the  door  behind  him.  In  silence 
they  waited,  while  a  thousand  conjectures  whirled 
through  Hill's  brain.  What  had  he  stumbled  upon? 
In  exactly  what  nefarious  business  were  these  men 
engaged  ?  Could  he  trick  them  into  letting  him  go  ? 


SUNDRY    ADVENTURES  249 

What  would  they  do  to  him?  Suddenly  he  missed 
the  bear.  What  had  become  of  Mr.  Jones?  Doubt- 
less the  poor  beast  would  be  hopelessly  lost.  .  .  . 
In  a  moment  more,  footsteps  were  heard  outside 
in  the  passage.  The  door  handle  grated,  and  Hill, 
bracing  himself  for  whatever  was  to  come,  swung 
about  and  found  himself  face  to  face  with  Iris' 
father,  the  Honorable  Reginald  Vanderpool — Mil- 
lionaire Asphalt  King. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  COMPROMISE 

THE  day  on  which  Iris  came  to  Pedro's  studio 
for  her  second  pose  was  not  that  which  had 
been  appointed,  but  one  nearly  a  week  later.  Dur- 
ing the  intervening  period  the  young  painter  had 
remained  locked  in  the  studio  as  long  as  daylight 
lasted,  emerging  only  at  night,  in  company  with 
Leigh. 

Pedro  had  given  her  no  explanation  for  putting 
her  off,  simply  sending  word  that  he  could  not  have 
her  at  present,  but  would  get  some  work  done  on  the 
background  of  the  portrait.  To  Leigh  he  had  made 
no  reference  to  the  sudden  depression  that  had 
settled  upon  him  like  a  pall,  and  Leigh  bided  the 
time  when  Pedro  would  confide  in  him.  It  is  to  be 
noted  that  this  great  test  of  congeniality  was  suc- 
cessful, putting  the  final  link  to  their  bond  of  friend- 
ship; for  the  trouble,  although  untold,  drew  them 
closer,  instead  of  creating  a  breach  between  them. 
.  .  .  Incidentally,  this  was  an  excellent  moment 

250 


A    COMPROMISE  251 

for  such  a  mood  to  have  come  upon  the  youth,  for 
the  two  were  arranging  for  a  little  exhibition,  and  it 
gave  them  ample  opportunity  to  avoid  personalities. 
They  were  giving  the  "two-man's-show"  partially 
to  please  themselves,  partially  because  Theodore 
Pell's  unconscious  boost  through  the  Associated 
Press  was  bringing  about  results,  and  the  time 
seemed  ripe. 

Iris  had  telephoned  several  futile  invitations,  and 
at  last,  catching  Pedro  on  the  wire,  had  arranged 
for  a  sitting.  At  the  hour  appointed,  she  mounted 
the  stairs  slowly,  with  fast-beating  heart,  starting 
and  trembling  at  every  sound  within  the  ancient 
building.  What  if  Cassie  should  see  her?  For,  not- 
withstanding her  resolves  to  the  contrary,  Iris  had 
again  come  alone !  These  last  few  days,  when  she 
had  been  unable  to  see  Pedro,  had  but  added  fuel  to 
the  flame  she  already  burned  at  his  shrine,  and  it 
had  come  to  such  a  pass  that  she  felt  it  almost  a  ne- 
cessity to  her  continued  existence  to  be  with  him — 
alone  with  him  in  that  exciting  atmosphere  which 
his  personality  created,  and  to  which  she  was  not  as 
yet  conscious  of  contributing  largely  herself.  That 
he  always  appeared  unconscious  of  this  electrical  at- 
mosphere, mattered  not  at  all.  Whether  he  wished 


252  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY, 

it  or  not,  she  must  see  him,  must  be  with  him,  at 
whatever  cost  to  her  pride  or  vanity. 

She  reached  the  door  unchallenged,  and  rapped 
upon  it. 

"Lady!  Most  gracious  Madonna!"  he  cried  in 
greeting.  "See,  here  is  the  blue  robe — quick, 
quick !  I  am  all  impatience  to  begin.  Do  you  know 
the  good  tidings?  Of  the  ridiculously  audacious 
thing  I  am  going  to  do?  Exhibit  my  pictures!  Yes! 
me.  Pedro!  Ha!  ha!  I  am  not  unknown,  it  seems ! 
Read  the  newspapers.  I  am  Pedro,  the  great  Span- 
ish artist !  I  do  not  know  how  to  paint,  but  it  mat- 
ters not:  they  will  say  'an  impressionist — Matisse 
outdone !'  Ah  !  ha !  your  portrait  will  be  the  chief 
gem  of  the  display.  In  two  weeks  comes  the  exhibi- 
tion, so  I  must  finish  it  soon,  soon  !" 

"Where  are  all  the  canvases?"  asked  Iris,  looking 
about  her.  "There  were  simply  shoals,  and  now — 

"Leigh  has  taken  most  of  them,"  he  laughed, 
"some  to  be  framed  for  the  show,  and  some  for  him- 
self. And  De  Bush,  he  has  two.  I  am  rather  fright- 
ened at  my  sudden  fame.  I  have  already  orders 
for  two  cover  designs  for  magazines.  And  Leigh 
made  me  say  two  hundred  dollars  each,  no  less! 


A    COMPROMISE  253 

Wait,  wait!  I  must  tell  you  the  most  funny  part  of 
all — they  are  going  to  pay  it!" 

"You  seem  surprised,"  replied  Iris,  who,  it  must 
be  remembered,  had  no  reason  for  doubting  the 
newspaper  story  which  was  the  gage  of  Pedro's  po- 
sition that  she  had  decided  to  accept. 

"Surprised?"  said  he,  with  a  lift  of  the  eyebrows. 
"Tut,  tut!  Of  course  not!  Am  I  not  Pedro,  the 
great  Spanish  artist  ?" 

Whereupon  he  burst  into  a  gale  of  laughter,  and 
set  about  arranging  the  light. 

Iris  slipped  into  her  blue  robe,  slightly  puzzled 
by  his  wild  mood,  but  rinding  it  charming  none  the 
less.  How  far  removed  from  her  he  always  seemed ! 
Here  she  had  come  full  of  sentiment,  of  personal  in- 
terest, and  he  met  her  with  a  gaiety  and  an  imper- 
sonal enthusiasm  that  were  only  for  the  model  which 
would  enable  him  to  continue  work  on  his  picture. 

During  the  first  part  of  the  pose,  he,  contrary  to 
his  usual  habit,  talked  rapidly. 

"It  will  be  a  lovely  exhibition!"  said  he,  "there 
will  be  Leigh's  stuff — beautiful  marbles,  rich  in 
form,  and  with  such  textures  and  high  lights.  You 
know !  And  the  virginal  white  bas-reliefs — the  joy- 


254  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

ous  one  of  the  ladies  dancing — what  a  difference  it 
makes  which  way  one  says  it.  'Ladies  dancing/  or 
'dancing-ladies' — English,  eh?  And  there  will  be 
his  group  with  the  lions,  and  the  fountain  that  he 
did  for  H.  G.  Ball.  The  General  Grant,  too — the 
equestrian — a  small  cast  of  it.  That  is  for  the  center 
of  the  gallery.  And  around  the  walls,  between  these 
things  will  hang  many  gorgeous  paintings  by  that 
great  Spanish  painter — myself." 

Iris  could  not  but  laugh  with  him. 

"And  of  all  these  fine  pictures,"  he  continued, 
"the  most  lovely  will  be  a  Madonna  with  hair  that 
is  red-gold,  like  joy !  Calmly  she  will  gaze  down 
upon  the  vacant  room.  Then  the  exhibition  will  open. 
Oh !  the  anxious  hearts  of  that  great  sculptor  and 
that  noted  painter!  Pretty  soon,  in  will  come  two 
girl  art  students  and  one  newspaper  reporter.  The 
reporter  will  not  look  at  the  pictures  or  the  sculp- 
ture; he  will  take  a  catalogue  from  the  little  stand 
by  the  door,  and  as  he  goes  out  again  he  will  say  to 
the  young  man  in  charge,  'Are  they  any  good?' 
and  the  young  man  will  reply,  'They  must  be :  they 
have  already  paid  for  the  use  of  the  gallery/  by 
which,  perhaps,  the  reporter  will  be  influenced  and 
write  a  favorable  criticism  accordingly.  The  two 


A    COMPROMISE  255 

art  students  will  run  around  quickly,  saying  'rot- 
ten, rotten  !' — peck  at  everything,  and  go  out — still 
saying — 'rotten,  rotten !'  Then,  some  one  who  is 
tired  will  wander  in,  because  there  is  a  bench  to  sit 
down  upon.  Then  more  students,  who  will  say  'rot- 
ten', and  go  out.  If  it  rains,  it  will  be  much  better. 
Probably  many  will  go  in  if  it  rains — it  is  a  free 
shelter — and  afterward,  they  will  say  at  dinner  par- 
ties: 'Have  you  been  to  the  exhibition  at  Mason's? 
I  dropped  in  the  other  day.  Very  poor,  very  poor!' 
and  feel  themselves  art  patrons,  even  as  they  say  it! 
I  hope  it  rains.  It  is  thus  that  one  becomes  famous." 

"Pessimist !"  she  accused  him. 

"Merely  contemptuous,"  he  assured  her.  Then 
there  was  silence  and  he  worked  fiercely,  cruelly,  for, 
as  usual,  he  forgot  the  rests,  and  it  grew  late  before 
either  spoke. 

At  last,  exhausted  by  the  long  pose,  by  his  indif- 
ference, by  her  own  emotions,  she  could  bear  it  no 
longer,  but  holding  out  her  arms  toward  him,  she 
swayed  slightly,  and  said  his  name  in  a  broken  voice. 

"Pedro!" 

Then  he  saw  how  white  and  drawn  her  face  had 
become,  and  with  a  little  cry  he  dropped  his  palette 
and  sprang  to  her  side. 


256  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Madonna!"  he  said,  "forgive  me!  Come  down! 
So !  Let  me  help  you.  Lie  here  upon  this  couch. 
Oh !  I  am  cruel  and  thoughtless !" 

Whimpering  a  little,  she  clung  to  his  arm,  burying 
her  face  in  the  crotch  of  his  elbow,  fondling  his 
hand. 

"Pedro,  Pedro,  I  am  so  tired!"  she  said  over  and 
over  again. 

Distressed,  he  tried  to  sooth  her,  stroking  her  hair, 
adjusting  the  sofa  pillows  with  a  surprising  deftness, 
and  accusing  himself  bitterly.  Then  he  gently  disen- 
gaged his  arm  and  made  her  lie  down. 

"I  know !  A  little  sherry !"  he  exclaimed.  "A  bite 
of  luncheon !  You  will  see  now  what  a  splendid 
housewife  I  can  really  be,  at  need.  We  will  have  a 
charming  meal  directly." 

He  poured  wine  into  an  antique  Venetian  glass, 
and  brought  it  to  her,  clasping  both  her  hands  about 
the  fragile  thing  as  one  would  clasp  a  child's  un- 
trained fingers  around  a  precious  toy. 

"Drink!"  he  commanded,  "and  lie  quite  still  with 
your  lovely  head  among  the  caressing  pillows.  You 
are  an  Eastern  Queen  now,  and  I  your  humble  serv- 
ing-slave. See !  Like  magic  the  feast  shall  appear !" 

With  an  encouraging  laugh,  he  twisted  a  bit  of 


A    COMPROMISE  257 

crimson  silk  about  his  head  for  a  turban,  and 
salaamed  before  her. 

All  this  was  not  what  Iris  had  wanted  when  she 
held  out  her  hands  with  that  piteous  little  cry;  but 
beggars  must  take  what  they  can  get,  and  so  she 
lay  obediently  among  the  cushions,  a  faint  color 
coming  back  to  her  cheeks,  a  tremulous  smile  play- 
ing about  her  lips,  and  in  her  eyes,  all  the  love  and 
longing  which  Pedro  would  or  could  not  see. 

Meanwhile,  he  drew  up  a  little  round  table  before 
the  hearth,  stirred  the  dying  embers  with  fresh 
wood,  threw  an  Arabian  cloth  over  the  table  and 
proceeded  to  lay  the  feast. 

"Foigras — behold!"  he  said,  with  a  flourish  as  he 
placed  it  before  her.  "Knives,  one  fork.  Ah!  lovely 
plates  from  Dresden,  and  biscuits  from  London. 
Sardines,  too.  I  saw  such  as  these  caught  in  blue 
water — ah,  so  blue! — and  they  flashed  and  glittered 
in  the  nets  like  captive  quicksilver !  Here  are  grapes 
— your  own  gift  to  me.  In  this  magic  urn  I  will 
make  coffee  a  la  turc.  And  do  you  know  this  cordial? 
'Forbidden  fruit' — it  is  called.  And  cigarettes  of 
Russia  with  little  paper  holders  growing  on  the 
ends!  The  nations  serve  you,  oh,  queen!" 

She  sat  up  and  allowed  him  to  feed  her.  The  soli- 


258  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY, 

tary  fork  gave  them  much  cause  for  mirth,  for  she 
insisted  that  they  share  it,  and  before  the  meal  was 
finished  they  were  playing  like  children. 

Pedro's  moods  were  generally  irresistible,  and  he 

t 

was  determined  that  she  forget  and  forgive  his 
thoughtlessness.  As  he  sat  opposite,  seeing  her 
cameo-like  beauty,  he  thought  for  the  hundredth 
time  that  Hill  had  chosen  well.  Small  wonder  that 
the  latter  had  been  driven  to  despair  by  her !  And 
she — did  she  still  care  for  the  absent  painter?  She 
seldom  spoke  of  him,  and  that  argued  well  for  Hill's 
cause.  And  what  had  parted  these  two?  Some  silly, 
silly  quarrel,  he  again  assured  himself.  How  well 
matched  they  were,  how  admirably  suited  to  each 
other!  But  how  about  the  girl's  attitude  toward 
himself  .  .  .  ?  A  subtle  smile  crept  to  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  at  the  thought,  and  he  hastily  took  his 
eyes  from  her  face,  looking  intently  at  the  glowing 
cigarette  between  his  fingers  instead. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked.  "A  second  ago 
you  were  merry.  Now  you  look  quiet,  wise — dan- 
gerous! How  you  change !" 

"Dangerous!  Far  from  it!"  he  exclaimed,  push- 
ing back  his  chair,  "that  is,  unless  you  call  over- 
whelming curiosity  dangerous.  Personally  I  think 


A    COMPROMISE  259 

it  less  dangerous  than  a  lack  of  curiosity;  to  the  in- 
dividual, at  least." 

"And  what  makes  you  curious?"  she  asked. 

"You  would  think  me  impertinent." 

"Never!"  said  she  with  such  vehemence  that  he 
looked  up  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  you  would,"  he  said. 

"Try  me !"  she  begged. 

Then  Pedro,  who  did  not  know  how  to  lead  gently 
up  to  any  subject,  plunged  in. 

"Were  you  engaged  to  Hill?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

Without  answering,  she  arose  and  walked  away 
to  the  window,  where  she  stood  for  several  moments 
before  replying,  her  back  turned. 

"Yes,"  she  said  at  last. 

"And  do  you  still  care  for  him?" 

To  her  own  intense  surprise  she  found  that  she 
could  not  reply  at  once. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Madonna,"  said  Pedro  softly. 

"Oh!  you  don't  understand!"  she  cried  wildly, 
throwing  out  her  hands.  "I  don't  care,  I  hate — oh! 
why  did  you  ask  me?" 

"I  think  I  do  understand,"  he  said  very  distinctly, 
looking  straight  at  her. 

A  wave  of  crimson  flooded  her  cheeks.    What  did 


26o 

he  mean?  Unable  to  face  him  longer,  she  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands.  He  came  toward  her  and  stood 
where  he  could  have  touched  her.  One  hand  was  in 
his  pocket,  the  other  held  his  glass  of  cordial,  the 
"forbidden  fruit",  and  that  subtle  smile  played  about 
his  mouth  and  eyes,  as  though  he  were  at  once  sad 
and  amused. 

"Sam  Hill  is  a  great  soul,"  said  he  softly.  "He  is 
generous  and  good.  He  is  talented,  he  is  .  .  .  " 

"He  is  nothing  to  me!"  she  gasped,  looking  up. 

"He  is  my  friend,"  finished  Pedro  firmly. 

She  flung  her  arms  wide,  and  turned  to  him  with 
an  appealing  gesture,  her  face  revealing  an  emotion 
she  made  no  attempt  to  conceal,  nor  he  to  ignore. 

"Pedro !"  she  began  passionately,  "you  will  think 
me  mad  for  saying  it,  but  ah !  I  can  not  help  it — • 
you  make  me!  Pedro,  I  love  ..." 

There  was  a  crash  as  his  liqueur-glass  fell  to  the 
floor. 

"Hush!"  said  he. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  for  the  moment  startled 
into  normality. 

"Nothing!"  said  he,  "only  that  you  are  not  to 
finish  your  sentence.  Never  mind  the  glass,  it  was 
done  intentionally.  Let  us  talk  of  other  things." 


A    COMPROMISE  261 

"But,  Pedro,"  she  said  hysterically,  "I  can  not!  I 
am  possessed!  How  can  you  be  so  cruel?" 

"Please,  please!"  he  begged  her.  "Madonna,  I  am 
abject;  I  am  in  torture!  Have  pity!" 

"It  is  akin  to  pity,"  she  replied. 

There  was  silence.  Outside,  upon  the  snow-filled 
ledges  the  sparrows  squabbled  noisily,  and  from  the 
street  came  the  sound  of  a  barrel-organ  playing  an 
aria  from  a  defunct  Italian  opera. 

Pedro  walked  to  the  hearth  and  stooped  to  mend 
the  fire.  Then  he  straightened  up  and  spoke. 

"Impossible!"  he  said  quietly.  "Utterly  impos- 
sible." 

And  she,  watching  him  intently,  knew  he  had  be- 
lieved her,  although  he  presented  this  denial.  She 
felt,  too,  that  her  cause  was  nearly  hopeless. 

"You  do  not  care,  then,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"Madonna  Lady,"  he  said  sadly,  "I  care  for  you 
a  great  deal,  but  not  as  Hill  does;  not  as  a  man 
should,  to  be  your  lover.  You  charm  me  beyond 
words ;  you  are  lovely  as  a  dream,  and  if  I  could  love 
any  woman,  it  would  be  you — but,  you  are  not  for 
me." 

"Why  not?"  she  asked  sharply,  between  her  tor- 
tured breaths. 


262  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"The  reason  is  beyond  my  power  to  alter,"  said 
Pedro. 

"Then,"  said  she,  "I  suppose  I  had  better  go. 
Shall  you  wish  to  finish  the  picture  ?" 

"Iris!"  he  cried  in  a  suddenly  changed  tone, 
"come  here,  listen !  Of  course,  I  want  to  finish  the 
picture;  it  is  going  to  be  good!  And  what  is  more, 
if  you  will  be  so  gracious,  with  your  permission  we 
will  finish  it,  and  renew  our  friendship  at  the  same 
time." 

"Friendship !"  said  she,  with  a  mirthless  little 
laugh. 

He  threw  back  his  head  proudly. 

"We  are  not  of  the  common  herd,"  said  he.  "And 
we  can  do  things  which  weak  persons  are  unable  to 
accomplish!  Surely  we  are  bigger  than  the  circum- 
stances in  which  we  are  placed.  At  least,  we  can  be- 
come so  if  we  will." 

"Become  friends  ?"  she  asked. 

"Certainly!"  said  he.  "For  us  that  is  perfectly 
possible.  For  the  ordinary  man  and  woman,  no !  I 
grant  you  it  would  be  too  hard.  But  for  us!  Ah ! 
that  is  quite  a  different  matter,  I  assure  you !" 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  she  hesitated, 
biting  her  lip. 


A    COMPROMISE  263 

"Very  well,"  said  she  in  a  resigned  voice.  But 
inwardly  she  was  resolved  far  otherwise.  He  rec- 
ognized this,  but  the  situation  had  lasted  long 
enough. 

"Come!"  he  cried,  with  an  attempt  at  putting  the 
incident  behind  them,  "I  must  talk  to  you  about 
something  very  important.  You  asked  me  to  help 
you  find  out  who  was  troubling  your  father." 

"Yes,"  she  assented,  without  much  interest,  how- 
ever. 

"Well,"  said  he  slowly,  "I  am  most  distressingly 
placed,  Madonna.  I  am  almost  certain  that  he  is 
being  either  blackmailed  or  misled  in  some  manner, 
and  yet  my  hands  are  absolutely  tied.  I  can  do 
nothing." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  demanded,  aroused. 

"I  seem  fated  to  be  a  man  of  mystery,"  he  la- 
mented, "but  I  can  not  help  it!  I  have  ascertained 
that  a  man  of  doubtful  character  is  in  communica- 
tion with  your  father ;  that  much  I  learned  last  week. 
But  at  the  instant  of  my  discovery  of  this  fact,  a  cir- 
cumstance arose  that  makes  it  impossible  for  me 
to  continue  as  your  detective.  More  than  this  I  can 
not  say.  But  you  will  have  to  find  some  one  else  to 
help  you." 


264  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

Iris  was  turning  the  matter  over  in  her  mind  very 
rapidly.  Did  Pedro  really  not  care  for  her? 
Hardly!  Why  he  said  such  things  .  .  .  He  had 
followed  her  from  the  country !  Had  he  not  begged 
to  paint  her,  and  paid  her  such  compliments  as  no 
one  yet  had  done?  That  night  at  the  Milligans  came 
back  with  a  rush  of  memory.  Ah !  he  had  surely 
cared  then !  What  had  since  occurred  to  change 
him?  Samuel  Hill!  That  was  it!  He  had  learned 
of  her  former  attachment,  and  meant  at  all  costs  to 
be  loyal  to  the  man  who  had  befriended  him.  It  is 
not  easy  to  believe  that  one's  love  meets  with  no  re- 
turn, and  this  theory  fitted  her  need  very  nicely. 
And  now,  she  decided,  that  he  might  the  more  easily 
maintain  his  resolution  of  loyalty,  Pedro  was  de- 
termined to  cut  off  that  claim  to  intimacy  incident  to 
the  investigation  of  her  father's  trouble.  But  he 
should  not  do  so.  No !  a  thousand  times — no !  Some- 
thing must  be  done  to  make  him  see,  quite  clearly 
and  unmistakably,  that  his  sacrifice  to  Hill's  trust 
of  him  was  a  vain  and  useless  thing.  But  how  was 
this  to  be  accomplished?  Meanwhile,  Pedro  was  still 
talking. 

"I  say  with  regret,  that  I  have  every  reason  to 
believe  that  your  father  is  being  defrauded  in  some 


A    COMPROMISE  265 

way.  The  character  of  the  man  with  whom  I  saw 
him,  is  sufficient  to  justify  my  saying  this.  Also, 
alas !  this  same  man  now  appears  to  be  standing  in 
such  a  connection  with  me  as  makes  it  impossible  for 
me  to  inform  any  ordinary  person  of  the  facts.  I 
might  injure  an  innocent — undoubtedly  innocent — 
person  by  so  doing,  to  say  nothing  of  perhaps  letting 
out  a  secret  which  your  father's  actions  prove  he 
wishes  kept  dark.  For  a  whole  week  I  have  been 
trying  to  see  my  way  clear,  and  at  last  I  know  that  it 
lies  only  in  refusing  to  help  you." 

"And  yet,"  said  Iris  slowly,  rising  and  putting  on 
her  wraps,  "I  would  reward  the  right  person  to  the 
best  of  my  ability,  if  only  the  work  of  helping,  per- 
haps saving,  my  father  could  be  continued." 

He  gave  her  the  muff  for  which  she  stretched  out 
her  hand. 

"I  wish  indeed  that  I  could  help  you,"  said  he.  "I 
know  the  danger  of  confiding  so  delicate  a  matter  to 
any  one.  But,  perhaps,  for  a  reward — what  would 
it  be,  this  reward?" 

For  an  instant  the  audacity  of  what  she  was  about 
to  say  rose  like  an  impediment  in  her  throat,  hold- 
ing her  silent,  while  her  heart  beat  violently.  Then, 
at  last,  she  found  her  voice. 


266  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"I  would  marry  him,  no  matter  though  he  thought 
there  were  insurmountable  objections,"  she  said  with 
meaning. 

He  stood  astounded,  scarcely  able  to  credit  his 
hearing,  and  could  only  look  and  look  at  her,  open- 
mouthed.  Then  a  gleam  of  light  swept  across  his 
face  as  though  he  were  suddenly  possessed  of  a  glori- 
ous idea. 

"Iris!"  he  gasped  "will  you — will  you  put  that 
down  on  paper?  Make  an — what  you  call  it — affi- 
davit?" 

"Affidavit?— yes !"  she  replied. 

"Then  do  so!"  he  cried,  pushing  pen  and  paper 
toward  her. 

"Do  you  really  want  it?"  she  asked,  looking 
straight  into  his  eyes. 

"You  bet !"  he  shouted  joyously. 

She  laid  down  her  muff,  and  drawing  off  her 
glove,  she  wrote : 

"I  hereby  promise  to  marry  you  on  the  day  you 
can  tell  me  my  father  is  not  being  subjected  to  dan- 
ger, or  has  been  rescued  from  that,  if  any,  which 
now  imperils  him.  And  I  furthermore  agree  to  over- 
come any  debatable  objections  you  may  have  to  the 
marriage.  IRIS  VANDERPOOL." 


A    COMPROMISE  267 

"There!"  she  said,  laughing  a  trifle  hysterically, 
when  she  had  finished,  "will  that  do?" 

"Splendidly!"  said  Pedro,  and  thrusting  the 
folded  paper  into  his  breast  pocket,  seized  her  hand 
and  kissed  it  with  the  grace  of  a  courtier. 

Iris  blushed,  watching  him  with  tender  eyes. 
Then  she  submitted  to  being  led  down-stairs  and 
shut  into  her  coupe.  No  sooner  was  this  accom- 
plished than  Pedro  fled  across  the  little  court  and  up 
to  the  studio  as  if  all  the  devils  in  the  demonology 
were  after  him,  and  slamming  the  door  behind  him, 
he  proceeded  to  dance  the  coquette  at  a  mad  pace, 
upsetting  several  articles  of  furniture  in  the  process. 

"And  now  to  find  Mr.  Samuel  Hill!"  he  shouted 
gleefully,  waving  the  paper  above  his  head. 

"Ah !  Meestre  Sam/till/'  was  echoed  in  a  wail 
from  outside  the  door.  "Where,  oh !  where  is  he?" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SOME  ADVENTURES  WITH  VARIATIONS 

|EDRO  stared  at  the  door  as  if  transfixed,  and 
then,  the  wail  being  repeated,  he  opened  his 
portal.  On  the  landing  stood  Guneviere. 

"Madre  de  Dios!"  he  exclaimed,  "what  ails  thee? 
Come  in." 

"Oh!  'tis  terrible!"  moaned  Guneviere,  "that 
Anna !  that  irresponsible  one !  We  left  her  in  charge, 
and  when  she  awoke  Nita  had  vanished.  And  every 
one  was  away.  And  now  Samhill,  he,  too,  is  gone ! 
Oh!  Merciful  Mother!" 

"Sit  down  and  be  calm!"  cried  Pedro.  "Tell  me 
all.  What  has  happened?" 

"Lucky  it  is  that  Samhill  left  the  address !"  ex- 
claimed Guneviere.  "And  lucky,  too,  that  I  could 
find  thee.  Now,  all  will  be  well !" 

"Thanks,  oh !  smooth  tongue,  for  thy  faith  in  me," 
replied  Pedro.  "But  what  has  happened?  Tell  me, 
quickly !" 

"Yesterday  we  left  her  with  Anna,"  began  Gune- 
268 


ADVENTURES    WITH    VARIATIONS     269 

viere,  and  told  of  Nita's  illness,  and  strange  disap- 
pearance. 

"How  very  queer!"  he  commented,  when  she  had 
finished.  "How  unlike  Nita!  And  Hill?  What  has 
he  done?" 

"He  has  not  come  home!" 

"But  there  is  nothing  strange  in  that!"  objected 
Pedro.  "Does  he  not  often  stay  away  all  night,  eh?" 

"But  the  bear  came  home!"  wailed  Guneviere. 

"Mr.  Jones!   Alone!   Impossible!" 

"A  policeman-of-the-law  brought  him,"  explained 
Guneviere,  "saying  that  he  found  the  bear  near  the 
river.  The  name  was  on  the  collar,  and  the  number, 
iv  savis!" 

"Saint  Joseph !  but  that  does  look  serious !"  Pedro 
exclaimed.  "Quick!  is  there  nothing  more?" 

"Only  that  the  policeman-of-the-law  made  much 
noise  when  he  found  that  four  bears  dwelt  within  the 
tenement  He  says  we  must  move  out.  Four  bears 
are  not  permitted.  One  bear — perhaps,  if  much 
money  be  paid.  But  four!  No,  that  is  not  allowed !" 

"And  what  have  you  done?" 

"We  have  arranged  to  go  into  the  back  tenement," 
said  Guneviere,  evidently  convinced  that  the  change 
would  solve  the  difficulty. 


270  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"But,  Hill!  Something  must  have  happened  to 
him?  And  the  bear  left  him!"  said  Pedro,  walk- 
ing up  and  down  excitedly.  "He  may  have  been 
hurt !  Near  the  river,  eh  ?  Good  heavens !  I  scarcely 
dare  guess  what  has  occurred !" 

"The  hospitals?"  suggested  Guneviere  with  some 
faint  return  of  her  usual  practicality. 

"Ah !  yes,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  shall  telephone  them 
'at  once,  and  then  I  shall  go  to  Jones  Street  with  you. 
As  for  Nita,  we  shall  have  to  find  her  without  help ; 
she  has  made  me  swear  never  to  invoke  public  aid  in 
her  behalf,  you  know." 

"Yes,  yes!"  said  Guneviere,  "you  will  come 
then?" 

"Directly !"  he  cried.   "No  time  must  be  lost." 

But  as  it  proved,  time  mattered  little,  for  the  hos- 
pitals told  nothing,  and  neither  did  that  grim  lost 
and  found  office,  the  morgue.  For  two  whole  days 
Pedro  alternated  between  his  studio  and  the  rear 
tenement  on  Jones  Street,  his  mind  in  an  agony  of 
uncertainty.  He  could  not  work  for  nervousness,  and 
the  combined  suspense  and  inaction  played  havoc 
with  his  spirit.  Leigh  had  been  called  out  of  town 
to  see  his  mother,  who  was  ill,  and  there  was  no  one 
else  whom  Pedro  dared  go  to  for  advice  and  help. 


ADVENTURES    WITH    VARIATIONS     271 

Hill  himself  had  forbidden  that  his  affairs  be  made 
known  to  any  one  but  the  sculptor,  or  Pedro  might 
have  asked  Milligan's  assistance.  As  it  was,  he  could 
only  fume  impatiently,  and  eat  his  heart  out  with 
worry.  At  last,  no  longer  able  to  endure  doing  noth- 
ing, he  called  a  council  of  war  in  the  tenement 
kitchen.  To  the  assembled  bear-dancers,  with  excep- 
tion only  of  the  still  mysteriously  absent  Nita,  he 
arose  and  spoke. 

"I  am  going  to  find  Sam  Hill,  if  he  is  on  the  face 
of  the  earth!"  he  announced.  "I  am  convinced  that 
some  misfortune  has  befallen  him.  In  half  an  hour 
I  am  going  to  take  Mr.  Jones  with  me,  and  I  am  not 
coming  back  till  we  have  succeeded  in  discovering 
the  whereabouts  of  my  friend." 

"Bien!  And  I,"  said  Beau-Jean,  from  his  seat  on 
the  foot  of  the  bed.  "I  will  go  with  you  to  find  that 
Samhill,  who  is  my  friend,  avssi." 

"But  Rico  must  not  go !"  cried  Anna,  with  an 
anxious  glance  at  her  lover. 

"No,  I  will  remain  with  thee,  little  blossom  that 
shall  bear  my  fruit,"  said  Rico  tenderly. 

"Since  thou  hast  learned  of  the  coming  child,  thou 
art  of  no  earthly  use!"  grumbled  Guneviere.  "Go 
thou,  my  husband,  and  be  right  arm  to  our  Pedro." 


272  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Have  I  not  said  it  already?"  demanded  Beau- 
Jean. 

"Carlos  and  Rico  will  have  to  provide  while  we 
are  gone!"  said  Pedro,  with  the  air  of  a  general. 
"Guneviere,  pursue  your  search  for  Nita,  and  we 
also  shall  be  looking  for  her.  Most  likely  we  shall 
find  the  partners  together,  in  perfect  safety." 

"How  we  have  missed  thee,  little  one!"  cooed 
Guneviere.  "Now  that  thou  art  here  amongst  us 
again,  all  will  go  well." 

"Very  good !"  said  Pedro,  "all  is  arranged.  Come, 
Strong  Arm,  we  will  go." 

On  the  instant  they  began  collecting  the  few  traps 
necessary  for  a  short  absence,  and  while  they  were 
in  the  midst  of  these  preparations,  the  door  was 
thrown  open  to  admit  an  old  woman. 

"Nita!"  yelled  Pedro,  springing  toward  her. 

Instantly  the  room  was  in  an  uproar,  all  talking  at 
once,  laughing  and  weeping,  shouting  questions, 
making  offers  of  help,  proffering  food  and  drink, 
crowding  around  the  crone  with  such  clamor  and 
persistence  that  Pedro  could  scarcely  manage  to  get 
her  to  a  chair.  Then  she  sat  beaming  upon  them  all, 
apparently  in  the  best  of  health  and  delighted  at  the 
welcome  afforded  her.  Her  clothes  were,  if  possible, 


ADVENTURES    WITH    VARIATIONS     273 

a  trifle  more  worn  and  soiled  than  usual,  but,  other- 
wise, she  seemed  to  have  suffered  no  harm.. 

"Where  hast  thou  been?  What  hast  thou  done? 
Where  is  Samhillf  Art  well?  Tell  us !"  they  shouted 
all  at  once. 

"Aye,  I  am  well,  lucky  for  me!"  said  Nita,  with 
twinkling  eyes,  "for  I  have  been  a  bird  in  my  day, 
and  I  am  in  no  haste  to  meet  what  awaits  me  in  the 
hereafter." 

"Beloved  Nita!"  exclaimed  Pedro,  kneeling  be- 
side her,  "how  I  rejoice  that  thou  art  safe!  But 
where  is  Mr.  Hill?" 

"Samhill?"  she  queried.  "I  have  not  seen  him, 
nor  thought  of  him !  I  have  been  abroad  on  other 
business.  What  of  Samhill?" 

"Don't  you  know?"  cried  Anna.  And  then  the 
clangor  began  anew.  Not  know  where  Samhill  was? 
Where  could  he  be,  then?  Did  she  not  even  know 
of  his  disappearance?  What  had  she  been  doing? 
etc.,  etc. 

For  answer,  she  took  Pedro's  face  between  her  old 
hands  that  were  like  withered  leaves. 

"Dost  thou  know  who  is  in  the  city?"  she  asked. 
"Thine  enemy  and  mine,  Ricardo!  He  struck  me, 
and  I  was  senseless.  But  when  mine  eyes  opened,  I 


274  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

arose  and  went  in  search  of  him.  I  took  the  long 
slender  machete  with  the  handle  of  pearl,  but  I 
found  him  not.  There  was  a  woman  with  him  ..." 

"Yes,"  said  Pedro,  "my  mother." 

"Then  thou,  too,  hast  seen  him!  Where?"  she 
asked  eagerly.  "And  with  thy  mother?  Surely  you 
are  mad?" 

"Not  mad,  only  bewildered,  and  frightened,"  he 
answered.  "I  know  where  they  are,  but  not  for  what 
purpose!  I  shall  tell  thee  all  that  I  have  seen,  but 
not  now.  Can't  you  hear  the  others  saying  that  my 
benefactor  has  vanished?  Before  anything  else  we 
must  find  and  help  him,  if  need  be." 

"Where  is  Ricardo  and  thy  mother?"  asked  Nita, 
her  eyes  fixed  upon  Pedro's,  and  her  hand  closed 
tightly  upon  some  object  that  was  hidden  among 
the  bundled  shawls  and  scarfs  about  her  waist.  Pe- 
dro's eye  followed  the  movement. 

"It  is  very  far  from  here,  oh,  ancient  lady,"  he 
lied  glibly,  "and  I  shall  not  tell  you  where  until  I  re- 
turn. Then  we  shall  attend  to  your  little  matter,  and 
I  shall  see  why  and  how  my  mother  comes  in  such 
company.  My  mother!"  he  turned  away  and  sighed. 
"I  had  forgotten  how  I  love  her!"  he  said  as  though 
to  himself.  Then  he  picked  up  the  pole  and  chain, 


ADVENTURES    WITH    VARIATIONS     275 

and  signaled  to  Beau-Jean  that  he  was  ready.  Nita 
arose  to  her  feet. 

"Where  is  the  murderer,  the  seducer  of  my 
daughter?"  she  screamed.  "Where  is  Ricardo?" 

"At  the  other  end  of  the  city,"  said  Pedro.  "Come 
quickly,  Beau-Jean." 

And  with  that  they  were  off,  leaving  Nita  screech- 
ing imprecations  at  them  from  the  stair-head,  in  the 
most  healthy  manner.  As  they  reached  the  street 
Beau-Jean  asked: 

"What  is  all  this  murder  business  of  which  Nita 
talks  ?  Couldn't  we  manage  to  avenge  her,  when  we 
have  found  Samhill?" 

"Perhaps,"  said  Pedro  soberly,  "for  this  man,  Ri- 
cardo Valdez,  is  a  very  wicked  man.  He  used  to  live 
near  my  home.  Nita  was  my  nurse,  once,  and  her 
daughter  was  my  foster-sister.  When  she  was  only 
fifteen,  Ricardo  stole  her  away.  Then  he  deserted 
her,  and  when  she  came  back  to  us,  she  killed  herself 
and  her  baby.  Ever  since  then  Nita  has  been  looking 
for  him,  to  avenge  her  child.  But  she  is  so  old  now, 
that  I  think  we  had  best  not  let  her  do  it  I  am  sure 
she  would  really  prefer  dying  with  us,  to  dying  in 
jail !" 

"I  agree,"  said  Beau-Jean. 


276  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"And  now,  which  way  shall  we  turn?"  said  Pedro. 

"As  the  bear  came  from  the  river,  let  us  to  the 
river  go,"  suggested  Beau-Jean. 

"A  good  notion,"  said  Pedro,  "and  as  likely  to 
prove  fruitful  as  any." 

"More  likely  up-town,  than  down,  from  here," 
said  Beau-Jean,  and  again  Pedro  assented. 

And  so,  in  accordance  with  the  plan,  if  plan  it 
could  be  properly  called,  they  made  their  way  west- 
ward, straight  toward  the  docks,  and  once  reaching 
them,  began  a  pilgrimage  up-town,  wending  an  in- 
tricate way  among  trucks,  cabs,  autos,  longshoremen 
and  sailors,  Jew-pedlers,  market-wagons  and  am- 
bling horsercars. 

Just  what  they  expected  to  find,  it  would  be  hard 
to  say,  but  they  went  along  hopefully,  stopping  now 
and  again  to  peer  into  the  recesses  of  some  covered 
dock,  or  through  the  dim  windows  of  a  water-front 
shop,  sometimes  stopping  to  exchange  a  word  or  two 
with  the  proprietor,  or  whomsoever  was  about.  Sud- 
denly a  doubt  came  to  Pedro. 

"Are  you  sure  this  is  the  right  river?"  he  asked. 
"There  are  two — one  on  the  East  Side." 

"This  is  the  one,"  said  Beau-Jean,  and  they  con- 
tinued up-town,  past  old  houses,  cheap  houses,  tall 


ADVENTURES   WITH    VARIATIONS     277 

clean  warehouses,  and  tall  dirty  warehouses,  until 
they  came  to  Thirteenth  Street,  where  the  railroad 
runs,  unfenced,  unprotected,  upon  the  open  avenue. 
Here  the  tenements  were  more  in  evidence,  and  the 
little  children  ran  out  over  the  tracks  as  they  played. 
Between  the  winding  crisscross  of  rails  were 
dirty  scarred  remnants  of  the  snow,  and  on  the  nar- 
row pavements  lay  the  refuse  from  the  dwellings. 
Buildings  for  the  storing  of  foods,  and  shacks  be- 
longing to  the  railroads,  were  placed  at  irregular  in- 
tervals throughout  the  yards,  and  in  between  these 
and  the  street,  wound  the  tracks.  The  obstructing 
buildings  often  made  it  impossible  to  see  an  ap- 
proaching engine  part  of  the  time,  and  the  intricate 
network  in  which  the  rails  were  laid,  made  guessing 
which  direction  the  train  would  take,  a  difficult  and 
deceptive  problem.  Twice,  within  a  few  blocks  they 
were  nearly  run  over,  and  when  Mr.  Jones  pulled 
Pedro  down  a  side  street  out  of  the  dangerous  thor- 
oughfare, Beau- Jean  followed  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
Mr.  Jones  now  began  acting  in  a  most  peculiar 
manner.  Something  on  the  sidewalk  had  attracted 
his  attention,  and  nothing  could  divert  him  until  he 
had  made  a  thorough  inspection.  To  Beau-Jean  and 
to  Pedro  there  appeared  to  be  nothing  on  the  pave- 


278  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

ment  but  a  good  deal  of  dirt  and  refuse;  but  one 
particular  spot  seemed  to  have  fascinated  Mr.  Jones, 
and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  stand  waiting 
while  he  nosed  about. 

"Shall  I  chasten  him?"  asked  Beau-Jean,  who  was 
accustomed  to  using  this  method  with  Koko. 

"No,  certainly  not,"  said  Pedro,  "I  believe  he's 
been  here  before.  Perhaps  he  recognizes  something. 
Let  us  watch!" 

Pedro's  surmise  was  an  eminently  correct  one,  for 
Mr.  Jones  had  recognized — honey!  Very  shortly  he 
raised  his  head,  found  the  scent,  and  came  upon  a 
second  spot  of  interest.  How  delightful ! — this  was 
the  neighborhood  in  which  he  had  found  that  nice 
hive  where  there  were  no  bees  to  sting,  and  where 
the  honey  was  so  plentiful !  He  really  had  not  taken 
half  of  it  last  time!  And  here  were  his  own  foot- 
steps, his  sticky  honey-made  footprints,  which  would 
help  him  to  find  the  treasure  again.  St.  Bruin  be 
praised!  They  washed  the  sidewalks  of  this  neigh- 
borhood no  more  than  they  did  the  forest-trails. 
Again  he  sniffed  and  pawed,  and  the  two  who  fol- 
lowed him  began  to  be  of  a  single  mind  regarding 
his  familiarity  with  the  place.  Meanwhile,  the  chil- 
dren were  crowding  about,  following  the  animal's 


ADVENTURES    WITH    VARIATIONS     279 

slow  progress.  Thus  it  happened  that  in  time  they 
reached  the  doorway  of  the  little  dairy,  which  Mr. 
Jones  recognized  with  a  joyful  bound,  and  a  sort  of 
purr,  which  brought  the  dairyman  (who  had  spied 
him  through  the  window)  to  the  entrance,  with  a 
shower  of  abuse  ready  at  hand. 

"Get  out  of  this,  youse!"  shouted  the  milk-vender. 
"Don't  you  dast  ter  come  in,  any  of  youse!  I  ain't- 
a-goin'-ter  sell  yer  nothin'.  Get  off,  you  smashin' 
murderin'  bunch  of  dagoes!  I'll  set  the  cop  on  yer 
if  yer  don't  skidoo !" 

"Why?"  asked  Pedro,  wildly  excited.  "But  why 
won't  you  sell  to  us?" 

"Go  on  now!  none  o'  yer  back-talk!"  growled  the 
man.  "I  sold  to  one  dago  feller  with  a  bear  last 
week,  an'  the  brute  eat  up  all  me  comb-honey!  So 
get  out;  quit  talkin'." 

"A  man  with  a  bear?"  cried  Pedro,  scarcely  able 
to  believe  his  ears.  "I'll  bet  it's  the  one  I  want  to 
find.  That  bear  he  had  belongs  to  me." 

"Well,  what  do  I  care  for  that?"  said  the  milk- 
vender  sourly.  "Get  out,  or  will  I  call  the  cop?" 

"Which  way  did  he  go?"  persisted  Pedro — "same 
way  as  we  came?" 

A  malicious  smile  came  upon  the  weazened  fea- 


280  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

tures  of  the  dairyman.  Here  was  a  chance  to  mis- 
lead and  annoy  a  bear-dancer,  and  to  do  so  was  a 
wondrous  source  of  satisfaction. 

"He  went  this  way,  bad  luck  to  him!"  he  lied, 
pointing  east,  "if  yer  catch  up  with  him,  I  hope  the 
bear  eats  both  of  yer !" 

With  which  Christian  sentiment  he  slammed  the 
door,  and  the  interested  crowd  set  up  a  laugh. 
Angrily,  Beau-Jean  shouted  them  away. 

"Shall  I  thrash  them  all?"  he  asked  of  Pedro. 

"Nay,  let  them  be,"  responded  the  lad,  adding 
eagerly,  "let  us  be  off !  This  news  may  lead  to  some- 
thing." 

"I  think  the  man  was  lying,"  said  Beau-Jean. 
"Let  us  retrace  our  steps." 

"I  don't  agree !"  replied  Pedro.  "This  way  seems 
to  me  more  likely." 

And  as  usual,  he  won  his  point.  Once  more  they 
joined  the  busy  many-hued  shifting  panorama  of  the 
crowded  street.  They  steered  a  straight  course,  for 
they  knew  not  what  else  to  do.  Both  kept  on  the 
alert,  and  after  them  a  little  straggling  crowd  of 
children  followed,  like  the  ragged  tail  of  a  kite. 

When  they  had  been  walking  for  about  half  an 


ADVENTURES    WITH    VARIATIONS     281 

hour,  Pedro  laid  his  hand  upon  the  arm  of  his  com- 
panion. 

"Look,  Beau-Jean !"  said  he.  "Look,  there,  in  the 
window  of  the  little  shop  of  women's  finery !  See 
the  girl  with  the  red-gold  hair?  I  am  painting  a 
picture  of  the  Holy  Mother,  and  the  hair  is  of  just 
such  a  color!" 

"Indeed!"  said  Beau-Jean  soberly.  "It  is  a  ter- 
rible color.  Do  you  think  that  the  Holy  Mother  will 
be  pleased?" 

"I  had  not  thought  of  that !"  replied  Pedro.  Then 
he  added  suddenly — "Oh !  see,  the  shop-lady  knows 
Mr.  Jones!" 

It  was  true.  The  red-haired  girl  had  given  very 
animated  signs  of  recognizing  the  bear,  and  lifted 
her  gaze  to  the  persons  in  whose  company  he  ap- 
peared, with  a  smile  on  her  lips,  which  swiftly  gave 
way  to  a  look  of  disappointment  as  she  met  their 
eyes. 

"Wait!"  said  Pedro,  halting  before  the  door, 
"that  lady  has  seen  this  bear  before,  or  I  am  much 
mistaken !  And  what  is  more,  she  expected  to  see 
some  one  she  knew,  when  she  looked  at  us!  Come 
in,  I  want  to  buy  some  thread." 


282  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

Whereupon,  he  opened  the  door,  and  with  the 
bear,  entered  the  crowded  little  shop,  leaving  Beau- 
Jean  gasping  out  on  the  pavement. 

Behind  the  purple  satin  corset  and  the  dangling 
neckties  stood  the  smiling  Lola  La  Farge,  alias 
Lizzy  Hinkle. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  she  asked,  laying  aside 
the  bit  of  knitting  upon  which  she  had  been  en- 
gaged. 

"Thread,  please!"  said  Pedro,  flashing  his  smile 
at  her. 

"What  color?"  she  inquired,  admiring  his  eyes 
and  teeth. 

"Er — ah — green,  please!"  said  Pedro,  because  her 
eyes  were  rather  of  that  color,  and  consequently  it 
came  first  to  mind  :  "Green,  and  a  needle,  please." 

"A  needle!"  she  exclaimed,  "you  mean  a  package 
of  needles!" 

"I  only  need  one  at  a  time,"  he  told  her.  Would 
she  speak  of  the  bear?  Ah!  she  was  going  to! 

"Seems  as  if  training  bears  and  sewing  didn't  go 
together  very  good,"  she  giggled.  "There  was  a 
gent  in  here  not  long  ago,  who  didn't  know  much 
more'n  you !  He  had  a  bear,  too !" 

"Yes?"  said  Pedro. 


ADVENTURES    WITH    VARIATIONS     283 

"Yes,  indeed,"  she  responded,  busily  getting  out 
the  articles  he  had  named.  "I  do  declare  to  good- 
ness, I  thought  this  was  the  very  identical  bear,  when 
I  seen  you  coming!" 

"It  is  the  identical  bear,"  remarked  Pedro. 

"What !"  said  she,  with  a  little  shriek  of  surprise — 
"well,  I  never!  How  is  the  other  feller?  Ain't  he 
got  the  bear  with  him  then?" 

"No,  I've  got  him!"  said  Pedro  dryly. 

"You  don't  say !"  exclaimed  the  girl,  peering  over 
the  counter,  as  though  seeing  the  animal  for  the 
first  time. 

"And  so  you  know  my  pal,  eh?"  said  Pedro. 
"Now  that  is  nice !" 

He  smiled  again,  and,  as  was  usually  the  case, 
hypnotized  her  into  instant  response.  Encouraged 
by  his  interest,  and  by  the  fact  of  their  mutual 
friend,  she  drew  a  postal  card — not  from  the  bosom 
of  her  pink  shirt-waist — from  her  pocketbook. 

"Well,  I  certainly  do  know  him !"  said  she.  "I 
had  this  postal  from  him  only  three  days  ago!" 

Trying  not  to  seem  over-eager,  he  took  it  and  read 
the  postmark  and  the  signature.  It  was  Hill's  and 
came  from  Jersey  City!  At  last  the  scent  was  get- 
ting warm.  What  good  fortune!  But  he  must  not 


284  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

seem  too  anxious,  or  she  might  grow  reticent. 
Diplomacy,  diplomacy! 

"You  are  treated  better  than  I  am!"  he  com- 
plained whimsically.  "I  haven't  even  had  a  card! 
But  then,  you  are  a  lady,  which  makes  all  the  differ- 
ence. Ah!  woman,  lovely  woman!  How  you  fas- 
cinate and  abuse  us !" 

She  giggled  self-consciously. 

"So  this  is  the  latest  news  of  Hill!"  said  Pedro. 
"I  suppose  you  write  to  each  other  frequently?" 

"Well,  no!"  said  she.  "You  see,  I'm  engaged.  I 
told  Mr.  Sam  it  was  useless,  but  he's  so  persistent." 

She  giggled  again. 

"Poor  Sam!"  said  Pedro.    "You  are  very  cruel!" 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  his  Jersey  address?"  she 
asked,  thereby  giving  Pedro  the  information  he 
wanted,  to  wit:  that  she  was  unaware  of  Hill's  pres- 
ent whereabouts. 

"Oh !  he  was  only  there  for  a  day !"  said  Pedro, 
putting  the  coin  which  she  indicated  out  of  his  hand- 
ful, upon  the  counter.  "He  might  drop  in  here  any 
time.  If  he  does,  tell  him  Pedro  was  asking  for 
him,  will  you  ?  And  now,  good-by ;  I  must  be  off !" 

He  leaned  over  the  counter  to  pick  up  his  package, 
and  she  leaned  over  the  counter  to  help  him,  per- 


ADVENTURES    WITH    VARIATIONS     285 

haps.  Her  face  was  very  near,  and  her  puckered 
mouth  sweet  and  red,  despite  the  fact  that  she  was 
so  far  from  pretty.  Yet  Pedro  took  no  base  ad- 
vantage of  the  opportunity,  and  having  secured  his 
infinitesimal  bundle,  lifted  his  hat  and  bowed  her  a 
graceful  farewell.  Pouting  a  little,  she  flung  him 
a  taunt  as  he  reached  the  door. 

"I  like  Mr.  Sam  the  best,"  she  said. 

As  Pedro  joined  his  waiting  companion  outside, 
he  was  met  with  a  string  of  reproaches. 

"Never  before  have  I  seen  you  tarry  so  long  with 
a  woman,  oh,  waster  of  precious  moments!"  said 
Beau-Jean.  "How  shall  it  benefit  thee?" 

"It  has  already  done  so !"  declared  Pedro.  "Come, 
hasten  with  me.  We  are  going  to  Jersey  City.  I 
shall  explain  on  the  way." 

So  off  they  went  to  the  ferry,  Mr.  Jones,  the  in- 
advertent detective,  shuffling  after. 

To  discover  where  the  picture  post-card  had  been 
purchased,  would  have  been  almost  impossible;  but 
to  locate  the  district  in  which  it  had  been  mailed 
was  easy  enough,  and  that,  combined  with  the  hour 
which  had  been  stamped  upon  it,  was  sufficient  evi- 
dence to  show  that  Sam  had  been  near  the  water- 
front at  some  time  between  eight  and  ten  o'clock  on 


286  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

the  evening  of  the  previous  Monday.  Consequently, 
the  next  problem  that  confronted  them  was  what 
Hill  had  done  after  dropping  this  exquisite  chromo 
into  a  district  "X"  pillar-box  ?  Pedro  at  once  tried 
to  picture  his  own  probable  actions  were  he  to  find 
himself  in  such  a  district  at  such  an  hour,  with,  pre- 
sumably, no  company  but  Mr.  Jones !  Ah  !  of  course ! 
the  cabarets — the  saloons  of  the  dance!  That 
seemed  the  obvious  answer,  but  he  consulted  with 
Beau-Jean,  to  be  certain.  .  .  .  Yes,  Beau-Jean 
would  make  straight  for  the  cafes,  and  Hill  had 
probably  done  the  same,  if  one  were  to  consult  him, 
the  Proven9al !  In  these  low  drinking  places  were 
many  sailors  and  longshoremen,  who  were  free  with 
their  money  and  laughed  very  much  to  see  a  bear 
perform.  Doubtless,  Samhill  would  go  to  some  of 
these.  And  certainly  their  search  should  include 
them,  for  they  were  of  a  character  where  one  would 
be  only  too  apt  to  meet  with  foul  play.  Fights  were 
frequent  and  even  the  officers  of  police  let  them 
alone.  But  he,  Beau-Jean,  was  mighty  of  arm ! 
He  was  not  afraid  to  explore  them,  if  Pedro  was  so 
disposed.  Pedro  was  so  inclined — determined,  in 
fact,  and  decided  to  try  them  at  once. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  the  shades  of  evening 


found  them  loitering  from  one  low-browed  ram- 
shackle dive  to  another,  ever  inquiring  for  Hill, 
of  whom  they  found  no  further  sign.  The  night 
fell,  cold  and  black,  and  still  they  pursued  their 
weary  search,  which  promised  to  be  fruitless.  Not 
only  did  they  learn  nothing  of  the  missing  painter, 
but  no  one  seemed  to  have  the  slightest  recollection 
of  the  bear,  a  hope  on  which  they  had  counted 
strongly.  Finally,  when  nine  o'clock  had  come,  and 
still  nothing  had  been  discovered,  Beau- Jean  sug- 
gested that  they  postpone  their  effort  until  the  fol- 
lowing day,  and  rest  their  weary  brains  and  bodies 
for  a  while.  But  Pedro  would  have  none  of  these 
suggestions. 

"But  I  am  hungry !"  protested  the  giant.  "Here  it 
is,  of  an  hour,  and  we  have  eaten  nothing  since  noon. 
Moreover,  the  bear  is  famished.  Presently  he  will 
begin  to  growl." 

"Well,"  admitted  Pedro  reluctantly,  "I  am  hungry 
myself.  Let  us  go  and  eat  and  smoke.  Afterward, 
we  shall  feel  more  inclined  to  search.  Where  shall 
we  go?" 

They  were  standing  on  a  desolate  street  corner 
when  the  consultation  took  place.  To  the  south 
stretched  the  bleak  darkness  of  sealed  warehouses 


288  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

before  which  the  faint  lamps  marched  away,  block 
after  block  into  the  dim  starlikeness  which  distance 
lent  them.  On  the  other  side,  a  group  of  buildings 
in  more  active  use  flared  about  a  ferry  terminal, 
some  three  blocks  below.  This  looked  more  prom- 
ising. 

"I  think  there  is  a  lunch-wagon  down  by  the 
dock,"  said  Beau-Jean,  "let  us  make  an  examina- 
tion." 

"All  right,"  Pedro  assented,  and  they  set  off  at  a 
brisk  pace,  in  the  direction  of  the  lights. 

Sure  enough,  there  was  a  lunch-wagon  backed  up 
against  the  ferry-house,  and  as  they  approached,  it 
took  on  an  increasingly  familiar  air.  Pedro's  inter- 
est was  now  quickened  by  more  than  the  thought  of 
food.  Where  had  he  seen  that  gaudy  decoration  be- 
fore ?  .  .  .  Holy  Saints !  it  was  his  own !  At  the 
same  instant,  Beau-Jean  recognized  the  movable 
hostelry  of  Mr.  Isaac  Lovejoy,  with  a  whoop  of  glee, 
and  they  quickened  their  pace  to  a  run.  The  worthy 
proprietor  was  occupied  in  serving  a  pair  of  cus- 
tomers— car  conductors,  or  ferrymen,  they  appeared 
to  be — but  when  he  caught  sight  of  Pedro  he 
dropped  the  slice  of  pumpkin  pie  that  he  was  in 


ADVENTURES   WITH    VARIATIONS    289 

the  act  of  transferring  from  platter  to  plate,  and 
entirely  disregarding  this  small  mishap,  he  stretched 
out  both  hands  to  the  boy,  a  broad  smile  of  welcome 
spreading  over  his  now  ruddy  face. 

"Well,  well,  I'm  blessed!"  he  cried.  "The  great 
little  feller!  and  the  big  husky  one,  too!  Well, 
well,  ain't  this  grand?  Come  in,  come  in  and  eat. 
It  certainly  does  my  eyes  good  ter  see  you." 

A  very  different  person  from  the  fat  but  despond- 
ent lunch-wagoner  whom  Pedro  had  met  -in  the 
grimy  little  suburban  square,  was  the  present  smiling 
and  prosperous  I.  Lovejoy,  who  beamed,  who 
laughed,  who  pressed  his  best  viands  upon  them. 
True,  he  was  still  very  fat — fatter  than  ever — but 
the  world  had  gone  well  with  him,  and  he  seemed  to 
have  used  his  smiling  likeness  on  the  wagon's  ex- 
terior as  an  example  to  be  lived  up  to. 

"Well,  well!  What  brings  you  way  off  here?"  he 
asked,  when  they  had  eaten. 

For  a  moment  Pedro  hesitated  and  then,  looking 
into  the  honest  red  face,  decided  to  give  his  Con- 
fidence and  related  the  cause  of  their  sudden  appear- 
ance in  the  wilderness  of  the  Jersey  docks. 

"You  don't  say !"  said  the  fat  man,  who  had  lis- 


290  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

tened  with  great  interest  and  attention.  "You  don't 
say !  Why,  I  seen  the  very  feller !  A  likely-lookin' 
chap  he  was,  too — and  a  friend  of  my  girl's." 

"Really?  What  good  fortune !"  cried  Pedro.  And 
then  Love  joy  went  on  to  describe  the  meal  that 
Hill  had  eaten  with  him,  omitting  nothing,  down  to 
the  very  number  of  doughnuts  and  the  strength  of 
the  coffee  that  Sam  had  imbibed.  All  this  was  re- 
lated with  an  air  of  deep  significance. 

"And  what  are  you  a-goin'  to  do  now  ?"  he  con- 
cluded. 

"I  don't  quite  know,"  admitted  Pedro,  "but  what 
you  have  told  us  makes  me  sure  that  we  are  on  the 
right  track.  We  might  keep  on  going  through  the 
saloons  near  by." 

The  fat  man  looked  thoughtful  for  a  moment, 
scratching  his  head  in  silence.  Then:  "Lookey 
here !"  he  burst  out,  "them  low-down  money -gettin' 
dives  are  no  ladies'  cafes,  and  it  ain't  safe  to  wander 
round  in  'em  'cept  in  company.  Now  I  like  you — 
you  done  for  me  what  I  can't  repay,  but  I'll  have  a 
try.  I'm  a-goin'  to  lock  up  this  place  and  I'm 
a-goin'  with  you." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Pedro,  holding  out  his  hand, 


ADVENTURES    WITH    VARIATIONS     291 

"you  are — what  does  one  say — a  brick!  Isn't  he, 
Beau-Jean,  eh?  But  it  is  not  necessary,  and  I  beg 
that  you  will  not  disturb  yourself." 

'  'Twon't  disturb  me  none,"  said  Mr.  Lovejoy, 
"and  I  liked  that  young  feller.  I  hate  to  think  he 
may  be  a-lyin'  dead  and  cold  in  some  wine-cellar, 
pierced  through  the  heart  with  a  dagger,  or  a  hat- 
pin, maybe.  I'm  a-goin'  ter  help  you  re-venge  him, 
yes,  if  I  lose  money  by  it,  by  jingo !" 

"I  beg  that  you  will  do  nothing  to  make  yourself 
a  loss!"  cried  Beau-Jean,  who  did  not  relish  the 
prospect  of  this  addition  to  their  party. 

"Although  every  fifty  cents  lost  keeps  me  just 
that  much  further  from  my  Lola,"  said  Lovejoy  sol- 
emnly, "I'm  a-goin'  to  make  the  sacrifice  this  time." 

Wherewith,  he  concealed  a  long  bread-knife  in  the 
inner  pocket  of  his  overcoat,  and  extinguishing  the 
light,  announced  that  he  was  ready  for  action. 

"Where  now?"  asked  the  giant,  as  the  three,  fol- 
lowed, of  course,  by  Mr.  Jones,  strode  out  into  the 
night. 

"There's  Beer  Peter's,"  suggested  the  new  mem- 
ber, "have  you  tried  there?" 

"No,"  responded  Pedro,  "where  is  it?" 


292  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Follow  me,"  directed  Lovejoy,  "it's  a  likely 
place." 

They  set  off  at  once,  and  trudged  on  in  silence 
until  a  low  frame  building,  abutting  on  the  river  and 
built  partially  on  piles,  was  reached.  Pushing  open 
the  felt-covered  doors,  Lovejoy  paid  for  their  en- 
trance, and  in  another  moment  they  were  in  the  long 
low-ceilinged  room  that  formed  the  main  portion 
of  the  building.  A  devastating  odor  rushed  out  to 
meet  them,  like  a  blast  from  some  evil  furnace.  The 
place  was  blue  with  tobacco  smoke,  and  at  the  far 
end,  beyond  a  sea  of  little  tables,  a  girl  was  singing 
to  the  accompaniment  of  a  cracked  piano.  Coarse 
faces  greeted  them  on  every  side,  and  voices  were 
raised  in  noisy  talk,  despite  the  music.  At  more 
than  fifty  beer-ringed  tables,  little  groups  gossiped 
and  glowered.  There  were  sailors,  loafers,  name- 
less men,  and  shame-bereft  men,  and  gentlemen,  out 
at  elbows,  all  the  chaff  of  the  city's  wheat;  and 
burly  workingmen,  to  whom  this  rough  imitation 
gaiety  represented  all  they  knew  of  amusement.  As 
for  the  women,  they  were  sad-hearted,  brightly 
dressed  "daughters  of  joy,"  for  the  most  part  vic- 
tims of  a  ghastly  inheritance  of  weakness  and  ig- 
norance. 


ADVENTURES    WITH    VARIATIONS     293 

"Hurry  up,  there's  something  missing, 
We'll  have  lots  of  kissing, 
Pa  and  ma  have  left  me  all  alone!" 

So  sang  the  girl  on  the  little  platform,  and  began 
to  dance  very  poorly.  She  was  dressed  in  a  light- 
colored  cheap  satin  tailored  gown,  which  was  far 
from  spotless,  but  lacked  nothing  in  chic  and  effect- 
iveness. She  wore  no  hat,  and  her  dark  hair,  cut 
in  a  fringe  which  reached  her  eyebrows,  gave  her 
for  all  the  world  the  hallmark  of  Montmartre !  Save 
for  her  unprofessional  dancing  and  the  lack  of 
subtlety  in  her  song,  she  might  have  belonged  in  any 
den  beloved  of  the  Apache. 

At  one  end  of  this  charming  resort,  which  was 
typical  enough  of  its  class,  stood  the  glittering  bar 
with  a  shining  array  of  glasses,  mahogany  and  pol- 
ished metal,  while  opposite  the  entrance,  in  what 
appeared  to  be  a  single-storied  addition,  was  a  room 
for  dancing.  Near  the  wide  opening  into  this  sec- 
tion, sat  Theodore  Pell,  the  reporter,  in  company 
with  three  companions — Elloch  the  painter,  and  two 
women.  They  were  all  very  hilarious,  but  catching 
sight  of  Pedro,  Pell  excused  himself,  and  began  a 
somewhat  uncertain  progress  in  the  direction  of  the 
newcomer.  At  the  same  instant  a  man  who  seemed 


294  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

to  be  in  authority  there,  accosted  the  three  and  de- 
manded to  know  if  they  wanted  to  have  Mr.  Jones 
perform. 

"The  house  takes  half  of  what  you  get,"  he  added. 

"Do  you  often  have  dancing  bears  here?"  asked 
Pedro. 

"Nope,  never  yet,"  said  the  man,  "but  it  might 
go.  Try  it  on  after  the  next  dance,  if  you  like." 

"Maybe  I  will,"  replied  the  other.  Then,  as  the 
proprietor  moved  away,  he  added,  speaking  to  Love- 
joy  in  a  low  tone,  "Let  us  get  right  away.  This 
place  is  too  open.  Nothing  serious  could  happen 
here,  and  besides  I  am  almost  certain  that  Hill  has 
not  been  here,  from  what  that  fellow  said." 

"All  right,"  replied  Lovejoy,  "we  might  try  the 
back  room  at  Murphy's,  or  Spikey  Joe's  place." 

"Good!"  said  Pedro  promptly,  hustling  them  out 
before  Pell  could  reach  them.  This  escape  did  not, 
however,  preve'nt  the  morning  papers  from  bearing 
an  account  of  how  Signor  E.  C.  Pedro,  the  noted 
Spanish  painter,  went  slumming  in  disguise. 

It  was  to  the  little  unnamed  wine-cellar  known  as 
"Spikey  Joe's"  that  the  rescue  party  went  next. 
Here  the  very  scum  of  the  docks  was  gathered,  and 
the  women  were  of  a  kind  one  never  sees  by  day- 


ADVENTURES    WITH    VARIATIONS     295 

light.  There  were  thieves  and  pickpockets,  dancing 
and  amusing  themselves  just  as  though  they  were 
human ;  and  sickly-faced  young  men  whose  pro- 
fession is  unnamable;  a  terrible  group  of  weary 
young  people,  calloused,  yet  sensation-hungry.  The 
three  companions  had  scarcely  entered  before  it  be- 
came evident  that  here  at  last  was  a  place  in  which 
Hill  had  been,  for  a  girl  with  flaming  cheeks  and  an 
unbelievable  coiffure  turned  and  pointed  to  the  bear, 
with  a  scream. 

"There's  a  Teddy,"  she  called  out,  "a  cute  little 
Teddy-bear,  just  like  the  one  the  other  guy  had. 
Oh,  the  cute  little — " 

Here  followed  a  joke  which  made  Lovejoy  wince, 
but  which  elicited  a  roar  of  mirth  from  the  habitues. 
But  Pedro  cared  not  at  all  for  the  import  of  the  lat- 
ter portion  of  her  speech.  Not  for  nothing  had  he 
lived  with  Nita  the  Sinful.  With  an  inviting  ges- 
ture he  beckoned  to  the  girl,  and  made  the  motion 
of  one  who  drinks.  With  a  laugh,  she  left  her 
partner  and  came  to  him,  and  then,  in  company  with 
the  two  others,  they  sat  down  at  a  long  bare  wooden 
table  and  Pedro  paid  for  the  poisonous  mixture  she 
ordered. 

"Dancing  a  bear  must  be  a  hell  of  a  swell  busi- 


296  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

ness !"  she  remarked.  "You've  got  the  coin,  ain't  you, 
sweetheart?"  and  she  stretched  out  her  hand  to 
touch  his  face.  Upon  the  heels  of  the  rebuff  that 
followed  there  was  a  laugh  at  her  expense. 

"Can't  kidnap  that  young  one,  Pearlie !"  sang  out 
her  ex-partner. 

Pedro  had  her  glass  refilled. 

"Tell  us  about  the  other  bear-fellow,"  he  sug- 
gested. "I'd  like  to  know  who  my  rival  is." 

"Sure,  cutie,  I'll  tell  you,"  she  smiled.  But  all 
she  had  to  say  was  that  a  nice  fresh  feller  (pre- 
sumably Hill)  had  been  there  three  days  ago,  had 
made  his  bear  perform,  got  no  money  for  it,  and  had 
gone  away  peaceably.  When  it  was  clear  that  nei- 
ther she  nor  any  one  else  there,  could  give  him  any 
further  information,  Pedro  arose  and  signaled  the 
others  to  do  likewise. 

"Don't  go !  Whatcher  hurry — 'tain't  morning  yet," 
said  Pearlie  invitingly.  But  they  were  not  to  be 
persuaded. 

Once  again  they  stood  in  the  keen  night  air,  on  the 
brink  of  the  long  dark  vista  of  the  streets.  Here 
they  consulted  again,  doubtful  as  to  where  to  turn. 
Lovejoy  opened  his  watch. 

"The  night's  young  yet,"  he  remarked,  "only  a 


ADVENTURES   WITH    VARIATIONS    297 

quarter  past  eleven.  We've  got  lots  of  time  to  find 
him  before  morning." 

Pedro  and  Beau-Jean  agreed  to  this,  more  for  the 
sake  of  saying  something  than  from  any  conviction. 

"But  where  can  we  look  next?"  added  the  former, 
with  a  despairing  gesture. 

"I  don't  really  know,"  responded  Lovejoy.  "We 
might  as  well  walk  till  we  come  to  some  place, 
though." 

At  this  suggestion  they  began  moving  again. 

Now  it  happened  that  they  soon  came  upon  a  por- 
tion of  the  one-sided  street  where  the  walk  had  been 
torn  up,  and  perforce  they  had  to  cross  to  the  cobble- 
stones beside  the  water.  Here  were  some  covered 
piers,  and  beside  one  of  them  Pedro  stopped  the  trio 
that  he  might  light  a  cigarette.  Beau-Jean  followed 
suit,  and  Lovejoy,  saying  that  he  had  promised 
Lola  not  to  smoke,  shook  his  head,  and  stood  looking 
up  at  the  semicircular  sign  above  the  dock  en- 
trance. 

"Venezuela  Fruit  Steamship  Company." 

He  spelled  it  aloud  slowly. 

A  strange  expression  crept  over  Pedro's  face  as 
he  listened. 

"Let  us  look  at  the  boat  that  goes  to  that  glo- 


298  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

rious  country !"  he  said  impulsively.  And  they  began 
moving  toward  the  ill-lit  entrance.  The  gates  were 
open,  and  in  the  dim  light  some  men  were  working 
about  the  hold.  As  they  approached,  they  saw  that 
a  small  corrugated  iron  house,  a  story  and  a  half  in 
height,  was  jammed  up  against  the  dock;  the  watch- 
man's dwelling,  perhaps,  or  the  company's  offices. 
This  little  building  was  so  situated  that  there  was  no 
other  structure  except  the  dock  within  at  least  two 
hundred  yards  on  either  hand.  All  about  was  quiet 
and  dark,  and  save  where  the  men  labored  in  the 
depths  of  the  pier,  there  was  no  sign  of  life. 

"What  the  devil  do  you  want  to  go  nosing  around 
here  for?"  complained  Lovejoy.  "The  cold  is  some- 
thing fierce!" 

"Just  a  moment!"  pleaded  Pedro.  "I  love  that 
country  so — Venezuela!" 

"What's  he  up  to?"  Lovejoy  whispered  to  the 
giant.  But  before  Beau-Jean  could  reply,  a  lot  of 
things  began  to  happen. 

In  the  absorption  of  the  moment  Pedro  had  slack- 
ened his  hold  upon  Mr.  Jones'  chain,  and  the  bear, 
giving  a  sudden  tug,  found  himself  free,  and 
bounded  off  toward  the  little  corrugated  iron 
house,  some  twenty  feet  away,  and  at  once  began 


ADVENTURES    WITH    VARIATIONS     299 

scratching  frantically  upon  the  door  that  opened 
upon  its  porch.  Instantly  the  three  men  ran  after 
him. 

"Come  here,  you  bear!"  yelled  Lovejoy. 

"Don't!  Let  him  alone!"  cried  Pedro.  What  on 
earth  could  the  creature's  action  mean?  Then  knowl- 
edge came  to  him  in  a  flash,  and  running  to  the  door 
at  which  Mr.  Jones  was  now  sniffing  and  giving 
little  growls  of  joy,  he  put  his  ear  to  the  panel. 
Holding  up  a  hand  which  warned  the  others  to  si- 
lence, he  spoke  in  a  distinct  but  quiet  voice. 

"Are  you  there,  Sam  Hill?" 

After  a  breathless  pause,  as  if  of  unbelief  on  the 
part  of  the  occupant  of  the  room  beyond,  came  the 
answer. 

"Yes;  who  are  you?" 

"Pedro,"  was  the  reply.     "Are  you  a  prisoner?" 

"Yes!"  said  the  voice  of  Hill.  "Good  heavens! 
how  did  you  come  to  find — " 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  a  shout  for 
help  from  Lovejoy;  there  was  a  sudden  sound  of 
scuffling,  and  Pedro,  turning  to  his  aid,  was  met  by  a 
blow  on  the  head  from  a  burly  fist. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

TO  THE  RESCUE 

WITH   magical  swiftness  the  semi-darkness 
began   to   swarm   with   struggling   shapes, 
which  sprang  from  everywhere  and  nowhere. 

Returning  the  blow  of  his  assailant  with  all  his 
puny  strength,  Pedro  managed  to  scramble  into  posi- 
tion with  his  back  against  the  house,  where,  from 
within,  he  could  still  hear  Hill's  voice  shouting  di- 
rections which,  however,  were  unintelligible  to  his 
distracted  attention.  Somewhere  near  by,  Beau- 
Jean's  string  of  rough  oaths  roared  upon  the  tur- 
moil, and  Lovejoy  began  yelping  for  the  police.  At 
this  latter  cry  there  was  a  slight  wavering  among 
their  unknown  assailants,  but  it  was  quickly 
mended  by  a  new  onrush. 

The  men  who  had  been  working  at  the  ship,  now 
left  their  tasks  and  joined  the  fracas  on  general 
principles,  siding  with  neither  party,  but  laying 
about  them  with  vigor  and  a  splendid  lack  of  dis- 
crimination. Only  the  desolate  character  of  the 

300 


TO    THE    RESCUE  301 

neighborhood  accounted  for  the  non-appearance  of 
even  greater  numbers,  ready  to  fight  for  the  fight's 
own  sake.  But  it  was  already  quite  a  fierce  strug- 
gle, and  Pedro  very  soon  began  to  find  it  difficult 
to  keep  his  feet.  The  man  with  whom  he  was  con- 
fronted had  an  overwhelming  advantage  in  height 
and  weight,  while  Pedro  was  slight  and  soft,  and 
truth  to  tell,  rather  badly  frightened.  He  had  all 
he  could  do  to  protect  his  face,  fending  off  the 
other's  blows  as  best  he  might.  How  hot  the  man's 
breath  was !  What  a  tower  of  strength  he  seemed, 
like  some  minaret  of  a  citadel  come  to  life  and 
marching  upon  the  enemy.  To  strike  him  with  such 
strength  as  he,  Pedro,  possessed,  would  have  been 
about  as  futile  as  striking  a  stone  wall.  What  would 
the  end  be?  If  only  he  could  manage  to  keep  the 
fellow  from  knocking  him  out  till  Beau-Jean  and 
Lovejoy  managed  to  win,  or  the  police  arrived.  But 
what  if  he  should  fail? 

It  seemed  as  though  they  had  an  army  against 
them,  though  as  a  matter  of  fact,  there  were  not 
more  than  ten  in  all.  Twice  he  with  difficulty  sup- 
pressed the  temptation  to  call  upon  his  friends  for 
help,  and  with  sobbing  indrawn  breath  fought  on 
wildly,  elusively,  striving  desperately  to  prevent  his 


302  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

opponent  from  grappling  with  him.  A  solitary  po- 
liceman (a  night  roundsman)  had  come  up.  Pedro 
could  hear  him  shouting  above  the  din,  but  his  ef- 
forts at  establishing  order  were  absolutely  ineffec- 
tual. Two  or  three  watchmen  from  the  nearest  docks 
now  joined  the  row,  and  like  the  stevedores,  not 
knowing  the  nature  of  the  trouble,  only  added  to  the 
strife  and  confusion. 

By  now,  Pedro  was  fast  losing  strength.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  at  any  instant  he  must  succumb,  and  sink 
to  the  ground.  Only  a  horror  of  being  trampled  on 
sustained  him,  and  his  head  was  growing  light. 
Then  his  antagonist,  who  was  bent  upon  his  injury  or 
capture,  infuriated  at  being  held  off  so  long  by  this 
mere  slip  of  a  boy,  managed  to  get  a  leg  hold  upon 
Pedro.  It  was  too  much,  and  the  boy's  courage 
gave  way. 

"Au  soucceur!"  he  screamed.  "A  moi,  Beau- 
Jean!  Au  soucceur!" 

Then  somehow,  he  never  quite  knew  in  what  man- 
ner, the  giant  was  beside  him,  and  the  black  men- 
acing shape  of  the  other  man  hurtled  through  space 
and  landed  among  his  fellows,  scattering  the  fight- 
ers for  an  instant.  Then  Hill's  voice  arose  again, 


TO    THE    RESCUE  303 

and  this  time,  Pedro,  leaning  breathless  and  panting 
against  the  house,  heard  and  understood. 

"Open  the  window,"  Hill  was  yelling,  "it's  fas- 
tened from  the  outside.  Open  the  window!" 

With  aching  arms,  Pedro  strove  to  obey,  but  the 
heavy  iron  bar  that  held  the  galvanized  shutters 
closed,  resisted  his  effort.  With  a  groan  he  was 
obliged  to  desist,  and  pause  for  breath,  while  his 
heart  seemed  to  have  swollen  in  some  mysterious 
manner,  and  to  be  choking  him.  Beau-Jean,  mean- 
while, was  a  veritable  windmill,  and  one  of  the 
stevedores  had  ranged  himself  beside  the  French- 
man, feeling,  no  doubt,  that  it  was  desirable  to  fight 
with,  rather  than  against,  this  powerful  person. 

"Open  the  window!"  yelled  Hill  ceaselessly. 
Pedro  bent  all  his  strength  to  another  effort,  and  at 
the  same  moment  there  came  to  his  ears  the  rapping 
of  the  lone  policeman's  club  upon  the  pavement,  a 
signal  that  was  not  wholly  without  effect  upon  the 
entire  crowd.  Again  the  heavy  iron  bar  of  the 
shutter  lifted  an  inch  or  two,  and  again  it  slipped 
back  into  its  socket.  Then  some  one  struck  him  upon 
the  shoulder  and  turning  to  defend  himself,  he 
looked  up  into  the  fat  dripping  face  of  Mr.  Lovejoy. 


304  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"God  bless  me!"  puffed  that  worthy,  "that  was  a 
near  thing !  Thought  you  was  the  enemy  !  Here,  you 
sausage!  (This  to  his  next  neighbor  in  the  press.) 

Take  that  for  mustard!" 

/ 

The  fellow  reeled  back  at  the  blow,  and  in  the 
hair's  breadth  interval  that  followed,  Pedro  man- 
aged to  gasp : 

"The  shutter-bar!    Help  me!" 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  heavy  iron  lath  had 
been  extracted  and  was  being  brandished  over  the 
lunch-wagoner's  head,  a  deadly  weapon  that 
swept  a  space  clear  about  the  window,  which 
now  burst  open  to  emit  the  disheveled  furious 
figure  of  Samuel  Hill,  who  was  armed  with  an  im- 
provised cudgel,  evidently  the  leg  of  a  table  taken 
from  the  furnishings  of  his  prison. 

"United  we  stand !"  he  shouted,  springing  into  the 
fight  with  relish.  Then  came  a  cry  that  was  echoed 
on  all  sides. 

"The  reserves,  the  reserves,  the  police!"  and  the 
crowd  began  to  scatter. 

Almost  as  magically  as  they  had  been  surrounded, 
they  were  left  alone,  but  now,  to  be  so  left  was 
fraught  with  almost  as  many  dangers  as  had  beset 
them  a  moment  sooner;  for  that  the  police  should 


TO    THE    RESCUE  305 

not  lay  hands  upon  them  was  the  paramount  thought 
in  the  minds  of  all.  Hill  was  the  first  to  act 

"This  way !"  he  called,  darting  off  toward  an  ill- 
lighted,  ill-paved  street,  flanked  only  by  poster-cov- 
ered fences.  The  others  followed  in  the  order  of 
their  prowess,  Beau- Jean  close  upon  Sam's  heels, 
Pedro  next,  and  the  panting  puffing  Lovejoy  after 
him.  Last  of  all  came  Mr.  Jones,  loping  along  on 
all  fours.  It  was  his  tardy  body  that  caught  the 
eye  of  a  stout  Irishman  in  the  city's  uniform,  who 
came  waddling  along  in  the  van  of  his  fellows.  See- 
ing the  vanishing  bear,  and  taking  him  for  one  of 
the  reprehensible  characters  who  had  necessitated 
his  untimely  exodus  from  the  warmth  of  the  station- 
house,  he  started  in  wrathful  pursuit,  striking  the 
creature  with  his  club  as  he  came  up  with  it.  At  this 
insult,  Mr.  Jones  stopped,  arose  to  his  full  height 
and  emitted  a  blood-curdling  howl. 

"Holy  Mother  of  God !"  yelled  the  policeman,  and 
fled,  leaving  Mr.  Jones,  considerably  accelerated  in 
speed,  responding  to  Pedro's  familiar  whistle. 

By  great  good  luck  the  rescue  party  managed  to 
escape  pursuit,  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour  they 
were  seated  (somewhat  weary,  but  except  for  a  feu- 
bruises  none  the  worse  for  their  experience)  in 


306  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY, 

the  light  and  warmth  of  Lovejoy's  wagon,  while 
they  discussed  their  adventure  over  hot  coffee  and 
the  inevitable  doughnuts.  Outside,  the  beginning 
of  a  new  snow-storm  was  rilling  the  air  with  white 
petals. 

"And  why,  in  the  name  of  the  Gracious  Madonna, 
were  you  locked  up?"  inquired  Pedro.  "I  can  not 
understand  it." 

"There  is  some  mysterious  illegal  business  afoot 
among  that  crowd,"  said  Hill  thoughtfully.  "They 
have  got  that  boat  chock  full  of  ammunition  and 
arms,  and  all  under  cover  of  being  pianos,  and  such 
stuff.  It's  against  the  law,  you  know.  They  sail  the 
day  after  to-morrow,  at  dawn,  and  as  I  had  acci- 
dentally stumbled  upon  their  tricks,  they  decided  to 
keep  me  safe  until  they  got  away.  I've  no  doubt  they 
would  have  let  me  go  after  that,  without  any  fuss, 
but  it  was  beastly  unpleasant  being  locked  up  that 
way." 

"You  must  give  the  information  to  the  authori- 
ties," said  Pedro. 

Sam  seemed  to  be  in  some  doubt  about  this,  but 
at  last  he  decided  that  an  explanation  was  due  to 
these  good  friends  who  had  risked  so  much  for  him. 

"You  see,"  he  began,  "there  is  somebody — that 


TO    THE    RESCUE  307 

is  to  say,  somebody's  near  relation — mixed  up  in 
this,  and  I — well,  damn  it  all !  I  can't  very  well  give 
him  away!" 

Instantly  a  thousand  conjectures  sprang  to 
Pedro's  mind. 

"Is  it — is  it  Iris'  father?"  he  said  hesitatingly. 

Hill  stared  at  him  in  amazement,  a  doughnut  ar- 
rested half-way  to  his  mouth. 

"Great  Scott!  how  did  you  know?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Because — well,  I'll  tell  you  later.  But  the  rea- 
son is  that  which  made  me  come  and  look  for  you," 
he  answered.  "You'll  excuse  us,"  he  added  to  Love- 
joy,  "but  it's  a  private  affair,  about  a  lady." 

"I  will  indeed,"  responded  the  fat  man,  "ah! 
ladies,  ladies!" 

"We  must  talk  this  over  at  once !"  exclaimed  Hill, 
glancing  at  the  clock,  which  showed  that  the  hour 
was  almost  I  a.  m.  "Come,  let  us  go !" 

The  three  arose,  and  with  many  expressions  of 
gratitude  to  their  host,  took  their  departure,  and 
were  soon  settled  upon  the  dingy  benches  of  the 
north-bound  ferry.  They  were  almost  the  only  pas- 
sengers on  board,  and  lulled  by  the  warmth  of  the 
cabin,  Beau-Jean  fell  asleep,  using  Mr.  Jones  for  a 
pillow,  and  the  bear,  also  glad  of  the  rest,  followed 


308  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

suit.  Here,  then,  was  an  excellent  opportunity  for 
talk,  and  the  other  two  immediately  proceeded  to 
take  advantage  of  it. 

Pedro  spoke  first,  and  related  the  story  of  his  ac- 
quaintance with  Iris  and  her  request  for  his  help  in 
the  matter  of  her  father's  secret  trouble.  From  this 
narrative  he  omitted  nothing  except  her  infatuation 
for  himself,  and  at  the  end,  came  to  the  little  paper 
on  which  she  had  written  her  promise.  At  this 
point  Pedro  began  to  mix  fiction  and  fact. 

"I  could  not  undertake  to  help  her,"  he  said,  "be- 
cause I  soon  discovered  that  some  one  dear  to  me 
would  be  involved,  and  would  in  turn  involve  me: 
but,  more  of  that  later.  I  then  suggested  that  you 
be  called  upon,  but  she  was  unwilling — you  have  had 
a  little  quarrel,  eh?" 

The  speaker  watched  Hill's  eager  face  closely,  to 
note  the  effect  of  this  remark.  The  result  was  con- 
firmatory to  his  own  deductions. 

"Yes,"  said  the  elder  man,  "it  was  a  silly  quarrel 
about  nothing." 

"Aha!"  said  Pedro,  "so  I  felt  sure.  But  she—- 
ah !  she  thought  you  would  not  come  to  her  aid.  I 
knew  differently,  and  so  I  told  her.  Then  she  wrote 


TO    THE    RESCUE  309 

this  little  paper  (he  spread  it  out  upon  his  knee) 
and  I  set  out  to  find  you  and  give  it  to  you." 

Hill  took  the  fluttering  bit  of  white,  and  read, 
with  glad  incredulous  eyes : 

"I  hereby  promise  to  marry  you  on  the  day  you 
can  tell  me  my  father  is  not  being  subjected  to  dan- 
ger, or  has  been  rescued  from  that,  if  any,  which 
now  imperils  him.  And  I  furthermore  agree  to  over- 
come any  debatable  objections  you  may  have  to  the 
marriage. 

"(Signed)    IRIS  VANDERPOOL." 

"For  me !"  said  Hill  tensely.    "She  sent  it  to  me !" 

There  was  an  instant's  pause,  and  then  Pedro  lied 
manfully. 

"Yes!"  said  he. 

Hill  let  out  such  a  whoop  at  this  that  Beau-Jean 
and  Mr.  Jones  woke  up  long  enough  to  shift  their 
positions. 

"Tell  her  that  I  shall  claim  the  reward  within  the 
week!"  Hill  exclaimed  exultingly;  "so  she  had  bet- 
ter prepare  to  pay  up !  When  will  you  see  her?" 

"To-morrow  night  there  will  be  a  masquerade  at 
the  Milligans,"  replied  Pedro.  "She  is  to  be  there." 

"Then  tell  her—"  Hill  began. 


310  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY. 

But  Pedro  stopped  him,  for  every  moment  was 
bringing  them  nearer  to  the  city,  and  he  had  not  yet 
finished. 

"I  will,"  said  he.  "But  listen  now  to  my  own  part 
of  the  story.  You  people  know  nothing  about  me. 
Well,  I  am — but  no,  I  shall  not  say  that  until  I  have 
to.  But  this  I  must  tell  you.  By  some  strange  cir- 
cumstance, the  character  of  which  I  have  not  yet 
solved,  my  mother  is  in  New  York  in  company  with 
Rowe,  whose  real  name  is  Ricardo  Valdez,  an  ex- 
minister  of  the  Venezuela  government.  He  is  as 
much  a  villain  as  my  dear  mother,  my  lovely  girl- 
mother,  is  an  angel !  Until  a  few  days  ago  I  imagined 
her  safe  in  her  own  home,  and  now  I  discover  her 
here,  and  with  that  man !  Some  reason  that  seems 
good  to  her  must  have  brought  her,  but  what  it  is, 
I  can  not  even  guess.  But  this  I  know — whatever 
of  evil  Valdez  is  engaged  in,  she  is  innocent,  and  to 
you  I  must  confide  her  interests,  and  beg  that  you 
allow  no  harm  to  touch  her." 

"But  why  don't  you  look  after  her  yourself?" 
gasped  Hill  in  amazement. 

"I  can  not !"  cried  Pedro,  his  eyes  full  of  distress. 
"You  see,  I  ran  away — oh,  long,  long  ago,  because 
she  would  have  forced  me  to — oh!  I  can  not  ex- 


TO    THE    RESCUE  311 

plain !  But  if  she  once  saw  me,  she  might  betray  me 
to  that  Valdez  gang — for  my  own  good,  as  she 
thinks — and  then  I  would  have  to  go  off  to  a  far 
country,  and  take  up  a  job  I  loathe — that  would  kill 
me,  that  would  stop  my  being  a  painter!  And  even 
for  my  mother,  I  could  not  submit  to  that!" 

"But  how  the  devil  can  she  make  you  go  against 
your  will?"  demanded  Sam.  "And  why  did  you 
leave  her  in  the  first  place?  It's  all  very  mysteri- 
ous!" 

"Yes,  I  know  it  sounds  strange,"  replied  Pedro, 
"but  I  can  only  explain  a  little.  You  might  take  her 
side.  Indeed,  almost  every  one  does,  except  Old 
Nita.  They  seem  to  think  that  to  be  rich  and  power- 
ful .  .  .  Oh,  they  do  not  understand.  They  have 
given  me  too  much  freedom  for  their  purpose,  and 
now  they  can  not  tie  me  down.  .  .  .  As  for  hav- 
ing left  her,  it  was  really  she  who  left  me.  I  had  a 
little  escapade — very  harmless  mischief  it  really  was 
— but  afterward  Valdez  told  me  that  my  mother 
would  not  receive  me  any  longer.  I  gave  him  a  letter 
to  her  in  which  I  begged  her  to  relent,  but  she  never 
answered  it,  nor  my  others.  Were  it  not  for  my  love 
of  her,  it  would  be  a  relief  to  have  severed  my  con- 
nection with  my  past,  because  of  the  different  life  I 


312  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

would  lead  should  I  go  back,  and  now  that  I  have 
begun  to  paint,  to  lead  my  own  life.  .  .  .  But, 
please,  I  beg  of  you,  as  I  have  served  you,  promise 
to  protect  her,  and  ask  me  no  more.  Some  day  I  may 
be  able  to  tell  you  everything,  but  not  now." 

"Very  well,"  assented  Hill  reluctantly.  "But  I 
may  call  upon  you  to  get  her  out  of  a  difficulty  if 
it  should  prove  absolutely  necessary  to  do  so?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Pedro.  "But  remember  that  for 
me  to  take  any  active  part  in  the  matter  would  have 
terribly  serious  results  for  me.  Now  tell  me  about 
Mr.  Vanderpool." 

"I  don't  know  much  to  tell,"  replied  Hill.  "He 
recognized  me,  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  that 
I  should  be  locked  up  till  this  damned  boat  had 
reached  its  port,  whatever  it  was,  and  gave  orders 
that  I  was  not  to  be  hurt.  Then  he  went  off  before 
I  could  get  a  word  in  edgewise,  and  I  haven't  seen 
him  since." 

The  ferry-boat  had  reached  its  slip,  and  they 
aroused  their  sleeping  companions. 

"Will  you  go  to  the  studio?"  Pedro  asked  when 
they  had  landed. 

Hill  considered  for  a  moment. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  shall  go  back  to  Jones  Street 


TO    THE    RESCUE  313 

with  Beau-Jean  and  the  bear.  I'm  going  to  get  at 
the  bottom  of  this  business  before  to-morrow — that 
is,  to-day — is  over.  I  have  not  yet  decided  on  a 
plan  of  action,  but  in  all  probability,  I  shall  be  better 
able  to  work  from  the  stratum  of  the  tenements  than 
as  myself.  In  the  meantime,  thanks,  and  good 
night,  and  God  bless  you  for  this !"  He  tapped  the 
breast  pocket  wherein  lay  the  promissory  note 
signed  by  Iris. 

"Good  night!"  said  Pedro,  bestowing  a  violent 
embrace  upon  Mr.  Jones.  "Good  night,  Beau-Jean, 
tell  Nita  I  shall  be  with  her  soon !" 

Then  they  shook  hands  all  around,  and  Pedro 
watched  half-wistfully  until  the  swinging  doors 
closed  upon  them,  and  then,  turning  up  his  coat  col- 
lar, prepared  for  the  cold  journey  homeward. 


CHAPTER  XV 

SNOW  AND  DOGS  AND  THINGS 

AS  Pedro  emerged  into  the  street,  that  snowy 
white  carpet  which  appears  so  magically  lay 
soft  and  muffling  over  the  pavements,  deadening  the 
sound  of  such  little  stir  of  life  as  was  still  abroad  at 
this  most  silent  hour. 

A  distant  chime  struck  the  quarter,  and  pro- 
claimed that  two  o'clock  of  a  new  morning  was  at 
hand.  The  wind  was  biting  and  Pedro,  ploughing 
along  ankle-deep  in  the  shifting  mass,  shivered  be- 
neath the  insufficient  covering  afforded  by  the  old 
green  coat.  How  silent  the  world  was !  Even  the 
"link"  of  the  elevated  trains  seemed  deadened  and 
unreal,  while  the  whole  city  looked  fantastically  the- 
atrical in  its  new  mantle,  like  a  stage  scene  wrapped 
in  cotton-batting  for  the  performance  of  a  panto- 
mime. From  window-ledge  and  cornice  hung  great 
rolls  of  snow;  the  street  lamps  all  had  on  white  bon- 
nets like  peaked  night-caps,  and  even  the  narrowest 

314 


SNOW   AND    DOGS    AND    THINGS       315 

wires  and  branches  bore  ridges  of  snow,  piled  higher 
than  ever  human  hand  could  have  built  them. 

Oh !  the  silence,  and  the  rows  upon  rows  of  blind 
houses,  standing  shoulder  to  shoulder !  Round  about 
him  swirled  the  soft  flakes,  blinding  him,  whirling 
about  his  feet  in  eddies  as  though  to  betray  his  steps. 
Never  had  he  seen  the  town  so  quiet.  Only  one 
pedestrian  passed  him  in  a  dozen  blocks,  and  not 
another  living  creature  seemed  to  be  abroad;  only 
the  night-capped  arc-lights,  standing  frozenly  in 
their  wan  circles  of  light,  and  the  dancing  mocking 
snowflakes.  At  every  step  walking  became  increas- 
ingly difficult;  twice  he  stumbled  and  once  he  fell; 
fell  face  downward  in  the  white  shifting  mass  that 
felt  soft  upon  his  cheek  like  the  cold  hand  of  a 
treacherous  mistress. 

Down  the  narrow  chasms  of  the  streets  sang  the 
wind — a  dreadful  symphony,  too  cosmic  for  the 
cold  traveler  to  listen  to,  and  tuneful  only  to  the  ears 
of  those  who  lay  snug  and  warm  at  home. 

Painfully  fighting  the  blast,  Pedro  turned  up 
lower  Fifth  Avenue,  hugging  the  buildings  in  vain 
search  for  shelter,  and  regretting  that  he  had  not 
tried  to  get  a  street-car  on  the  other  side  of  town. 
Still,  all  the  public  conveyances  must  have  prac- 


316  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

tically  stopped  running  in  such  a  storm,  and  in  a  few 
blocks  more  he  would  be  home !  From  the  distance 
ahead  emerged  a  black  object  that  presently  re- 
solved itself  into  a  cab  whose  motive  power,  an  old 
white  horse,  advanced  it  slowly,  slipping  and  sliding 
with  stiff  knees.  Half  a  block  above  Pedro,  it  stopped 
at  the  curb,  and  he  watched  a  young  man  spring  out, 
almost  knee-deep  into  a  drift,  hand  the  driver  his 
fare,  and  make  the  best  of  his  way  up  the  broad  steps 
of  a  splendid  old  mansion.  For  a  moment  his  white 
shirt-front  gleamed  between  the  sables  of  his  coat, 
as,  swaying  slightly,  he  stood  fumbling  with  his 
latch-key  before  stumbling  into  the  dimly-lit  hall 
beyond.  The  cabby,  like  an  ancient  turtle,  drew  his 
head  into  the  massive  shell  of  his  thick  overcoat  and 
muffler,  gathered  the  reins  into  his  clumsy  mittened 
hands,  and  off  went  the  old  horse  again,  slip-slide, 
slip-slide,  into  the  dim  white  distance.  Then  again 
only  silence,  and  snow. 

With  head  bent  and  shoulders  hunched,  Pedro 
had  gone  past  his  corner  by  mistake,  and  suddenly 
realizing  this,  he  glanced  up  to  find  himself  con- 
fronting a  building  that  had  often  attracted  his 
passing  attention.  It  was  before  the  old  First  Pres- 
byterian Church,  with  its  snow-laden  trees,  and 


SNOW   AND    DOGS    AND    THINGS       317 

white-mounded  garden,  that  he  paused  and  turned 
his  back  to  the  lashing  gale.  From  under  his  hat 
brim,  which  was  pulled  well  down  over  his  ears,  his 
eyes  shone  with  excitement,  as  though  he  pitted  his 
puny  strength  against  the  elements  for  the  pure  joy 
of  a  combat  into  which  he  entered  for  the  sake  of 
the  tossing  about  it  would  give  him.  Now  that  the 
wind  was  behind  him,  the  storm  became  sport,  and 
tired  as  he  was,  he  no  longer  felt  in  such  a  hurry  to 
reach  shelter.  Just  as  he  began  to  retrace  his  steps, 
allowing  the  wind  to  push  him,  he  heard  a  low  moan, 
as  of  some  one  in  pain. 

For  a  second  he  hesitated  to  trust  his  hearing,  and 
walked  on  for  a  pace  or  two.  Then  it  came  again, 
faintly,  against  the  wind,  and  this  time  he  stopped 
to  listen.  The  sound  seemed  to  come  from  the 
portico  of  the  church.  Going  up  to  the  iron  gate,  he 
found  it  open,  and  peered  inside.  Apparently  no 
one  was  there,  and  he  was  about  to  leave,  when 
within  the  dark  central  doorway  something  moved, 
and  a  gleam  of  white  flashed  out  of  the  gloom. 

In  an  instant  Pedro  had  bounded  across  the  snow- 
filled  space  between  gate  and  door,  and  was  kneel- 
ing on  the  flagging  of  the  vestibule,  groping  about. 
Then  something  warm  and  moist  touched  his  hand, 


318  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

and  he  discovered  the  sufferer  to  be  a  large  black 
dog  with  a  white  star  on  his  face,  who  lay  as  though 
one  of  his  hind  legs  had  been  crushed — perhaps  by 
some  passing  automobile,  earlier  in  the  previous 
day.  The  animal  was  a  nondescript  creature  who 
might  have  been  of  any  variety  of  lineage  one  could 
well  imagine,  and  in  size  he  was  somewhere  between 
a  setter  and  a  Newfoundland.  His  coat  was  coarse 
and  short,  and  his  tail,  in  direct  contradiction,  long 
and  bushy,  with  white  fringes.  Like  half-moons  his 
eyes  rolled  at  Pedro,  and  without  hesitation  the  long 
muzzle  was  laid  into  his  hand.  At  the  touch  Pedro's 
heart  leaped. 

"Good  dog!"  he  said  huskily.  "What  shall  we  do 
about  it,  old  fellow,  eh?" 

The  dog  whined  a  little,  and  snuggled  closer. 
Pedro  put  an  arm  about  him.  Beyond  the  gothic 
arch  of  the  vestibule  fell  the  mottled  white  curtain 
of  the  snow,  now  steadily,  now  waveringly,  furled 
by  the  wind.  Pedro  arose. 

"Come  on,  boy !"  he  said. 

The  dog  made  a  pitiful  effort  to  rise  and  follow 
him,  but  failing,  sank  back  upon  the  steps  with  a 
whimper.  Pedro  looked  about  him  despairingly, 
but  no  help  was  in  sight.  Never  once  did  it  occur  to 


SNOW   AND    DOGS   AND   THINGS      319 

him  to  abandon  the  animal  to  its  fate ;  the  only  thing 
that  troubled  him  was  a  method  of  taking  the 
beast  home.  The  dog  was  plainly  too  much  hurt  to 
walk.  Then  it  must  be  carried.  With  a  sigh  he 
stooped  and  lifted  it  into  his  arms,  a  by  no  means 
easy  accomplishment,  for  the  dog  was  at  least  half 
his  own  size,  and  heavy  at  that.  After  a  yelp  or  two 
it  submitted  quietly  to  this  operation,  seeming  to 
understand  that  the  move  was  for  the  best,  and  with 
this  new  impediment  Pedro  staggered  out  into  the 
street  and  again  began  his  homeward  journey. 

It  was  a  heavy  task  he  had  undertaken,  and  sev- 
eral times  he  was  obliged  to  pause  and  seat  himself 
in  some  doorway  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  before  he 
had  arrived  half-way  to  his  destination  it  began  to 
seem  to  him  that  he  could  get  no  farther.  Then,  as 
he  arose  for  a  final  effort,  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the 
building  before  which  he  had  last  rested,  and  rec- 
ognized it  as  Leigh's  dwelling-place.  Furthermore, 
there  was  a  light  in  the  sculptor's  window.  With  a 
breathless  exclamation  he  clambered  up  the  steps 
and  pounded  on  the  door. 

It  was  several  minutes  before  the  janitor  re- 
sponded, and  when  he  found  that  he  had  been  sum- 
moned from  his  comfortable  basement  chamber  for 


320  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

the  sole  purpose  of  admitting  "that  dago  boy  an'  a 
fierce  old  cur"  he  flatly  refused  to  help  in  the  ani- 
mal's removal  to  the  upper  regions.  So  Pedro  did 
it  alone,  and  reached  Leigh's  door  breathless  and  ex- 
hausted. At  his  knock,  the  door  flew  wide,  reveal- 
ing Leigh,  clad  in  an  old  brown  dressing-gown  and 
slippers,  his  pipe,  as  usual,  hanging  reversed  from 
the  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"What  the  devil — "  began  the  sculptor. 

"The  dog — he's  badly  hurt!"  exclaimed  Pedro 
excitedly.  "I  couldn't  carry  him  any  farther,  so  I 
brought  him  in.  Let  us  make  him  a  bed  by  the  stove, 
quickly !" 

"All  right,  Doc!"  replied  Leigh,  gathering  up 
sofa  cushions  indiscriminately,  "we'll  fix  him  up." 

For  twenty  minutes  they  fussed  over  the  animal, 
and  when  they  had  done  their  best  for  it,  and  it  had 
gone  to  sleep  with  its  head  upon  Leigh's  rolled-up 
overcoat,  the  two  shook  hands. 

"When  did  you  get  back?"  asked  Pedro. 

"Only  to-night.  I  went  around  to  your  place  at 
dinner-time,  but  it  was  locked.  Where  have  you 
been?" 

And  then  Pedro,  keeping  back  nothing  but  Iris' 


SNOW   AND    DOGS   AND    THINGS       321 

attitude  toward  himself,  gave  Leigh  a  full  account  of 
the  week's  adventures.  When  he  had  done,  there 
was  a  long  silence,  during  which  Leigh  sat  staring 
into  the  fire,  as  though  obsessed  by  some  idea  that 
he  was  unable  to  shake  off.  When  at  length  he 
spoke,  Pedro  thought  that  the  deep  voice  had  never 
been  so  resonant  and  sympathetic. 

"Sorry  I  wasn't  here,"  said  he,  "and  as  for  this 
about  your  mother — I  don't  have  to  tell  you  to  call 
on  me,  do  I  ?" 

Not  a  question  did  he  put,  not  a  word  of  praise ; 
but  there  was  a  look  in  the  strange  eyes,  and  a  note 
in  the  rich  voice  that  meant  more  to  Pedro  than 
the  greatest  eloquence. 

"When  I  decide  what  course  I  am  going  to  take, 
I  shall  let  you  know,"  said  Pedro  in  a  low  tone.  "I 
am  glad  you  understand  that  I  am  not  deserting 
her,  or  shirking.  Why,  I  would  die  for  her,  if  she 
would  gain  anything  by  it.  I  am  not  afraid  to  die." 

"That  is  no  boast!"  replied  Leigh,  with  a  tender 
laugh  at  the  youthfulness  of  this  speech.  "Every 
one  is  competent  to  die;  who,  though,  is  competent 
to  live?  The  simplest  problems  of  life  are  so  diffi- 
cult if  one  is  honest  in  considering  them." 


322  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Yes,"  said  Pedro,  "the  problem  of  the  universe  is 
in  every  minor  point  of  difference." 

"True  enough;  it  is  appalling!" 

"Not  if  one  dismisses  the  problems  with  ridicule!" 
said  Pedro. 

"Paugh !  ridicule  is  the  last  resort  of  the  unreason- 
ing !"  retorted  Abraham  Lincoln  Leigh. 

"You  are  too  epigrammatic  for  me  to-night,"  said 
Pedro,  rising,  "and  I  am  very  tired — too  tired  to 
floor  you  with  a  brilliant  retort." 

Leigh  laughed. 

"Hold  on  a  minute,  though,"  said  he,  "there's  one 
thing  I  must  get  off  my  chest  before  I  turn  in  to- 
night. I've  been  meaning  to  say  it  and,  indeed,  have 
started  to  several  times,  but  always  forgot,  some- 
how." 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  asked  Pedro,  smiling.  "I'm 
old  enough  to  hear  it,  I  guess,  eh  ?" 

Leigh  smiled  up  at  him  through  a  cloud  of  tobacco 
smoke.  "It  is  the  dream  of  the  very  young  to  be  old 
and  steeped  in  sin,"  said  he,  "even  as  it  is  the  dream 
of  the  old  to  be  young  and  innocent." 

"A  truism,  not  an  epigram,"  commented  Pedro. 
"But  what  is  the  solemn  communication  ?" 

"It's  about  Miss  Vanderpool,"  replied  Leigh,  his 


SNOW    AND    DOGS    AND    THINGS       323 

smile  fading.  "You  see  her  too  often,  and  it  won't 
do !  Are  you  not  aware  that  she  is  engaged,  or  as 
good  as  engaged,  to  the  very  man  who  has  made  it 
possible  for  you  to  know  her.  Don't  do  it,  boy,  it's 
not  fair!" 

"How  would  you  have  me  act?  I  am  painting 
her." 

"Don't  see  her  at  other  times,  then." 

"Eh?  Not  go  near  her?  Polite,  wouldn't  that 
be!"  exclaimed  Pedro,  just  for  the  wickedness  of 
leading  Leigh  on. 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  said  Leigh,  and  he  was 
watching  Pedro  very  closely  as  he  spoke.  "When, 
for  instance,  do  you  expect  to  see  her  next?" 

"To-morrow  night  at  the  Milligans'  masquerade," 
replied  Pedro.  "She  will  be  there." 

"Then  don't  go!"  exclaimed  Leigh.  "I  hate  to 
flatter  you,  Pedro,  but  you  are  not  without  attrac- 
tions." 

Pedro  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"I  think  I  shall  go,"  he  said,  eying  the  smoke 
meditatively,  his  handsome  head  cocked  to  one  side; 
his  eyes  half-closed,  and  a  queer  little  smile  playing 
about  his  lips. 

Leigh  swore  an  oath. 


324  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Don't  be  a  cad!"  he  said  shortly,  arising. 

Pedro  grew  solemn  at  his  tone,  and  yet  a  wicked 
spark  lingered  in  the  depths  of  his  eyes.  Going  up 
to  Leigh,  the  boy  placed  a  hand  on  the  giant's 
shoulder  and  stood  looking  up  at  him. 

"I  don't  know  quite  what  that  cad  you  say  is,"  he 
said ;  "but  from  the  way  you  speak  of  it,  I  am  sure  it 
is  not  good  to  be  one.  Yet,  I  am  going  to  that  party, 
and  simply  in  order  to  see  the  Madonna  Lady.  And 
in  telling  you  this,  after  what  you  have  said  about 
Hill,  I  must  beg  you  to  believe  that  no  matter  how 
often  I  should  see  her,  there  would  be  no  disloyalty 
in  it  to  my  benefactor.  Such  treachery  as  you  sug- 
gest would,  in  my  case,  be  absolutely  impossible,  for 
more  reasons  than  I  can  explain,  or  you  could  pos- 
sibly guess.  An  affair  with  her  is  totally  impossible 
for  me.  Will  you  not  believe  this,  amigo  miof" 

As  he  spoke  his  face  had  grown  more  and  more 
grave,  and  at  the  end  he  seemed  struggling  to  hide 
some  deep  emotion.  Very  seriously  and  intently 
Leigh  watched  his  face  until  he  had  ceased  to  speak. 

"Very  well,  I'll  believe  you,"  he  said  finally,  "but 
it's  a  tricky  dangerous  matter,  and  mark  my  words, 
you'll  be  sorry  if  you  run  your  head  into  her  trap; 
she's  a  charming  young  woman !" 


SNOW   AND    DOGS    AND    THINGS       325 

"Yes !"  said  Pedro.    "And  now  I  must  go." 

"Go !"  cried  Leigh  in  amazement.  "In  this  storm? 
What  nonsense,  man !  Sleep  here  on  the  couch." 

For  reply  Pedro  seized  his  hat,  a  panicky  expres- 
sion blanching  his  face. 

"No,  no!"  he  said.     "I  must  go!" 

"But  it's  nearly  morning!"  objected  Leigh.  "Why 
the  devil  shouldn't  you  stay?" 

Pedro's  fingers  were  on  the  latch.  Hat  in  hand, 
he  flung  back  his  answer. 

"Because!"  he  replied  and  rushed  out,  banging 
the  door  behind  him. 

For  a  long  time  Leigh  sat  looking  at  the  closed 
door,  thinking  hard,  all  the  lines  in  his  face  spring- 
ing into  prominence  as  he  bent  upon  his  subject  with 
special  concentration. 

"Because!"  he  repeated  aloud.  "What  a  strange 
answer.  Because!  Why?  Why?  Why?"  Taking 
a  single  impulsive  step  toward  the  door  he  flung  his 
arms  out  before  him. 

Then,  like  a  blind  man  who  had  been  suddenly 
given  sight,  he  staggered  across  the  studio  and  flung 
himself  upon  the  couch. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  BYZANTINE  PRINCESS 

TIRED  and  disturbed  in  hea!rt  and  mind, 
Pedro  crept  wearily  up  the  long  flights  of 
stairs  to  his  apartment,  and,  as  he  paused  upon  the 
landing  next  to  the  top,  the  little  clock  on  Cassie's 
mantel-shelf  rang  four  clear  silvery  notes  into  the 
dark  silence  of  the  musty  stairway.  With  a  sigh 
he  commanded  his  stiffened  muscles  for  a  final  effort, 
and  mounted  the  last  remaining  flight  of  creaking 
steps  between  him  and  bed.  Ah  \  grateful  thought  I 
It  made  him  hurry,  and  caused  him  to  glance 
eagerly  toward  his  goal  before  the  top  step  was 
fairly  reached.  There  he  paused  in  surprise. 

A  light  was  shining  out  from  beneath  the  door! 
Could  there  be  a  burglar  in  the  room?  It  would 
scarcely  be  a  visitor,  at  such  an  hour,  and  in  any 
event,  how  could  a  guest  have  obtained  admission? 
It  was  very  puzzling!  Cautiously  he  crept  over  to 
the  door  without  making  any  noise,  and  putting  his 
ear  to  the  panel,  listened  intently.  No  sound !  Who- 

326 


A    BYZANTINE    PRINCESS  327 

ever  they  were,  they  were  quiet  enough !  But  who 
could  it  possibly  be?  Of  his  friends,  there  was 
none  save  Leigh  who  would  possibly  visit  him  at 
such  a  time,  and  Leigh  was  at  home,  and  doubtless 
asleep  by  now.  As  this  seemed  to  eliminate  all  other 
possibilities,  it  must  be  an  intruder  who  was  burning 
his  oil.  Once  convinced  of  this,  Pedro,  being  tired 
of  fighting,  and  having  had  his  fill  of  battle  for  a 
long  time  to  come,  was  loath  to  bring  a  new  row 
down  upon  his  head.  Again  he  listened  at  the  door, 
and  at  first  heard  nothing  but  the  distant  roar  of  the 
elevated  cars,  and  the  tense  'audible'  silence  of  the 
sleeping  tenement.  Then  a  faint  stirring  and — was 
it  a  sigh  ? — came  to  him  from  within  the  room.  This 
was  a  sound  not  to  be  withstood,  and,  very  gently, 
he  turned  the  door-knob,  at  the  same  time  fitting  in 
his  latch-key.  Then,  with  a  swift  stealthy  move- 
ment that  was  like  a  panther's  maneuver,  he  opened 
the  door  a  crack,  slid  through,  and  quickly  closing  it 
after  him,  stood  motionless  with  his  back  against  it. 
A  curious  scene  met  his  gaze. 

Two  old  Spanish  lamps  that  hung  from  the  ceiling 
had  been  lighted,  and  on  the  hearth  glowed  the  em- 
bers of  a  dying  fire.  By  the  soft  red  light  of  these 
the  room  took  shape,  and  gigantic  shadows  stirred  in 


328  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

the  corners.  A  heavy  scent  of  fresh  flowers  and  of 
flowers  that  were  dead  hung  in  the  air,  and  he  could 
see  that  some  of  the  many  blossoms  about  had  been 
there  for  days.  Others  were  fresh,  as  though  newly 
arrived.  On  the  card  receptacle  lay  a  small  package 
and  a  note,  and  on  top  of  these  lay  a  single  glove — 
a  long  white  suede,  crumpled  and  soiled.  On  the 
model  throne  stood  a  basket  of  rare  fruits,  undis- 
turbed from  their  original  packing,  but  showing 
some  sign  of  wilting.  Evidently  the  gifts  that  Iris 
had  grown  into  the  habit  of  sending  had  not  ceased 
to  arrive  during  his  absence,  and  had  been  carefully 
bestowed  by  the  janitor.  But  who  had  lighted  the 
lamps  and  kindled  the  fire? 

At  first  the  apartment  seemed  unoccupied,  but  a 
second  glance  showed  this  impression  to  be  a  mis- 
taken one,  for  even  as  he  turned  toward  the  couch, 
there  was  a  gentle  stirring  among  the  cushions  and 
one  of  them,  jarring  a  stand  full  of  long-stemmed 
roses  near  by,  sent  a  shower  of  crimson  petals  flutter- 
ing over  the  sleeping  form  of  Iris  herself. 

"Dios!"  whispered  Pedro. 

For  a  breath  or  two  he  stood  staring  down  at  her, 
and  then,  being  careful  not  to  awaken  her,  he  drew 
up  a  large  armchair  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 


A    BYZANTINE    PRINCESS  329 

hearth,  and  dropping  into  it,  sat  regarding  her  in- 
tently, his  hands  clasped  about  his  knees,  his  head 
bowed.  How  strange  and  lovely  this  woman  was, 
who  lay  among  the  learning  shadows,  the  rose-petals 
dropping  upon  her!  All  desire  for  sleep  had  fled 
now,  leaving  him  keyed  up  to  a  highly  nervous  pitch, 
his  brain  abnormally  active  from  over-tire. 

That  Iris  had  been  at  a  ball  or  festivity  of  some 
sort  was  plain  from  the  gown  she  wore;  a  thin 
gauzy  stuff  made  heavy  and  clinging  with  silver 
spangles,  and  low-cut,  so  that  it  showed  her  gleam- 
ing white  shoulders  and  the  swell  of  her  bosom.  In 
her  red-gold  hair  was  a  jeweled  fillet.  Over  this 
gorgeousness  she  had  thrown  on  the  blue  robe  in 
which  she  was  wont  to  pose  for  him,  and  its  classic 
folds,  concealing  yet  revealing  the  jeweled  gauze 
beneath,  gave  her  an  appearance  that  was  far  from 
saintly.  Rather,  she  seemed  to  be  some  princess  of 
ancient  Babylon,  resting  on  the  rose-strewn  couch 
of  a  court  feast,  while  the  torches  flickered  and  flared 
in  the  darkness  before  dawn. 

It  was  a  thought  that  pleased  him,  and,  fever- 
ishly his  tired  brain  completed  the  metamorphosis. 

Her  hair  seemed  washed  with  melted  gold,  after 
the  manner  of  the  ancients,  and  her  carmine  lips, 


330  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

half  parted  over  the  little,  even  white  teeth,  might 
have  been  stained  with  henna,  so  red  they  were — so 
very  red — like  a  wounded  poppy — and  her  skin  was 
so  very,  very  white,  yet  creamy,  too.  Had  she  stolen 
that  wonderful  color  from  the  carved  ivories  on  the 
palace  walls?  And  when  the  black  slaves  waited 
upon  her,  and  knelt  before  her  with  basins  of  per- 
fume and  jars  of  scented  oil  for  her  rose-tipped  fin- 
gers— was  she  not  most  wondrously  white,  then? 
Had  not  their  bodies  been  created  black  only  that 
their  swarthiness  might  prove  how  fair  she  was? 
The  curve  of  her  delicate  nostril  was  cruel  .  .  . 
and  her  mouth  was  tremulous  with  unconscious  pas- 
sion. Upon  what  captive  creature  would  she  lavish 
the  force  of  her  maiden  affections  ?  A  tamed  chetah, 
perhaps,  fringed  of  ear  and  treacherous,  whose 
wicked  green  eyes  would  feast  upon  the  pulsing  col- 
umn of  her  throat  the  while  he  licked  her  hand 
...  a  royal  chetah,  such  as  the  mighty  princes  take 
forth  in  golden  cages,  and  turn  loose  upon  the  ter- 
rified slim-ankled  antelopes,  the  antelopes  with  little 
flecks  upon  their  bodies  .  .  .  white  flecks  that 
were  soft  and  clear  like  the  down  on  the  slender  neck 
of  Iris. 


A   BYZANTINE    PRINCESS  331 

"Princess  of  the  past  ages,"  he  murmured  softly, 
"your  soul  shines  through  the  flesh  of  to-day !" 

Around  her  slender  little  feet  the  blue  drapery 
had  caught.  Those  little  feet!  To  look  at  her  one 
must  believe  that  they  had  danced  on  marble  floors; 
strange  floors,  wherein  each  piece  was  of  a  different 
color,  and  none  was  larger  than  the  coin  that 
bore  the  head  of  Caesar.  .  .  .  Had  not  the  torches 
flared  from  the  porphyry  columns,  and  the  hot  wind 
from  the  desert  tossed  their  flames  in  harmony  with 
her  floating  veils  of  gauze?  .  .  .  The  long  thin 
horns  of  the  black  musicians  blared  their  brazen 
notes,  and  the  women  smote  their  lyres.  Between 
the  vast  columns,  whose  tops  were  lost  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  high  ceiling,  the  courtiers  and  slaves 
stood  to  watch  her,  fearfully,  and  as  they  watched, 
were  slaves  in  very  truth,  Roman  and  Nubian  alike, 
and  even  the  temple-servers,  with  their  oiled  and 
curling  beards.  .  .  .  Like  light  thrown  from  a 
prism  glass  she  danced  before  the  straining  love- 
smitten  eyes  of  the  tetrarch;  her  electric  body 
wrapped  in  an  ever-changing  veil  of  filmy  cloud, 
star-spangled,  and  oh,  the  tender  twinkling  feet,  the 
fluttering  little  feet,  so  white,  so  pearly  white,  and 


332  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

tipped  with  pink.  .  .  .  The  elusive  dancing  feet 
that  sped  among  the  rose-petals,  among  the  poppy 
petals,  across  the  curious  marble  floor.  .  .  . 

He  sighed  and  closed  his  eyes. 

Outside  was  surely  a  strange  moon-filled  scene 
— some  terraced  landscape  steeped  in  night!  In  the 
door  that  led  out  to  it  would  be  hung  a  great  cur- 
tain, heavy  with  tapestried  designs  of  crude,  keenly 
articulated  men,  of  strange  implements  of  war,  and 
lions  that  had  human  heads  and  wings.  Beyond,  a 
garden, — a  garden  rich  in  spices  and  rare  fruits,  and 
in  its  midst  a  pool,  motionless  as  the  sleeping  peli- 
cans upon  its  margin,  wherein  the  lotus  grew  tall  and 
firm,  and  lifted  wide-mouthed  chalices  to  the  moon. 
.  .  .  Below,  flat  roofs  in  terraces,  lower  and  lower, 
tier  upon  tier,  to  where  the  lions  roared  faintly  from 
the  desert;  to  where  the  silver  streak  of  the  river 
showed  gleaming  far  below  the  balustrade  of  the 
hanging  garden.  And  over  all  the  benediction  of 
the  moon;  the  subtle,  discreet,  voluptuous  moon 
.  .  .  and  silence,  silence.  .  .  .  Within  the  pal- 
ace, gutting  torches,  the  strewn  remainder  of  the 
feast,  trampled  flowers  and  bruised  fruit,  the  heavy 
scent  of  spilled  wine,  and  perfumed  tresses  unloosed, 
the  canopying  shadows  of  the  stone  roof,  the  waiting 


A    BYZANTINE    PRINCESS  333 

couch,  silk  draped  and  soft,  the  weary  dancer,  crim- 
son-mouthed .  .  .  the  drawn  curtain,  heavy  with 
strange  embroideries,  that  would  hang  straight 
and  guarding  until  the  winds  of  dawn.  .  .  . 

Pedro  arose,  and  bending  over  her,  brushed  a 
new-fallen  petal  from  her  lips.  And  Iris  awoke, 
looking  at  him  with  love  in  her  eyes. 

"I  knew  you  would  come  to-night,"  she  said 
smiling.  "Something  told  me  so !" 

She  held  out  her  hands,  and  he  assisted  her  to  a 
sitting  posture. 

"How  did  you  get  here?"  he  asked. 

"I  was  at  a  ball,  my  own  carriage  was  not  to  call 
for  me,  and  I  directed  the  cabby  to  bring  me  here. 
You  are  not  angry?" 

"Not  angry,"  he  repeated.    "Who  let  you  in?" 

"It  was  the  caretaker,  he  has  a  key." 

"Ah  !  Yes !  And  the  flowers — you  did  not  know 
I  was  away?" 

"I  have  telephoned  every  day,  but  to-night — to- 
night I  felt  somehow  that  I  must  see  the  room,  at 
least,  and  the  things  you  handle,  or  I  should  .  .  . 
I  must  have  fallen  asleep.  .  .  .  But  are  you  not 
going  to  greet  me?" 

"What  made  you  think  I  would  be  here  to-night?" 


334  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

he  asked,  his  voice  still  low  and  level.     "I  did  not 
know  it  myself." 

'  "I  was  not  sure,  of  course!"  she  protested.  "It 
was  only  that  I  felt  you  might  be,  and  I — oh !  I  was 
mad  to  come,  I  suppose,  and  you  will  think  me 
.  .  .  yet,  I  could  not  stay  away.  Something 
seemed  calling  and  calling  me!  Are  you  not  glad 
to  see  me?  I — oh! — say  you  are  glad,  for  I  am  so 
ashamed!"  She  had  arisen  and  stood  before  him 
with  downcast  head. 

"Why?"  said  Pedro. 

"Ah!  If  you  need  to  ask  that,  then  I  am  not 
ashamed!"  she  cried.  "You  always  understand!  I 
knew  you  would  .  .  .  that  is,  if  you  were  here 
at  all!" 

"This  time  I  do  not  quite  understand,  Madonna," 
said  Pedro,  "but  you  are  very  gracious.  Will  you 
not  be  seated?" 

He  pulled  the  large  chair  forward,  but  she  seemed 
not  to  see  it,  and  sank  back  upon  the  divan. 

"Sit  beside  me,"  she  commanded.  And  he  obeyed, 
choosing  a  spot  some  length  from  her. 

"I  was  frightened  when  I  came  in  here,"  she  con- 
fessed. "The  studio  is  so  vast  at  night,  and  so  full  of 
shadows,  and  then,  coming  up  the  stairs  .  .  . 


A    BYZANTINE    PRINCESS  335 

that  is,  the  unusut^ness  of  it  all,  you  know !  And  I 
have  been  so  worried  about  you !" 

"But  why  ?"  he  asked  again. 

"The  paper  that  I  signed!"  she  laughed  nerv- 
ously, her  fingers  straying  to  the  truant  locks  of  his 
hair.  "The  paper,  and  the  mad  way  in  which  you 
seized  upon  it.  Then  this  mysterious  absence  with- 
out warning.  And  yet  I  knew  you  would  return ;  my 
presence  here  proves  my  faith  in  your  ability  to  win 
out.  Have  you  any  news  ?" 

"Not  yet,"  he  said,  thinking  it  best  to  let  Hill 
tell  his  own  story  in  his  own  time.  "But  tell  me, 
Madonna  Lady,  is  it  conventional  in  America  for 
young  ladies  in  society  to  go  about  alone  at  such  an 
hour  as  this?" 

He  was  watching  her  intently  as  he  spoke,  and  she, 
wondering  how  innocent  the  speech  was,  felt  the  hot 
blood  mounting  to  her  forehead. 

"No — no !"  she  stammered,  "but  we  .  .  .  surely 
you  understand !  No  one  keeps  account  of  my  com- 
ing or  going,  and  as  far  as  my  household  is  con- 
cerned, I  might  easily  be  at  the  dance  until  even  later 
than  this!  Then  we  are  such — we  have  been  such 
good  friends,  surely  we  are  different.  The  ordi- 
nary conventions  do  not  concern  us." 


336  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Don't  they?"  he  asked  softly.  "Not  me,  poor 
waif,  perhaps — but  you!  The  world  is  small  and 
full  of  gossiping  tongues." 

"The  world  is  idiotic !"  she  declared  tremulously. 
"It  never  believes  in  friendship  between  men  and 
women !" 

There  was  a  tense  pause.  He  was  leaning  toward 
her  now,  and  her  breath  was  coming  fast.  The  very 
air  pulsed  with  the  situation,  and  he  could  feel  how 
fear  and  passion  fought  within  her  for  the  mastery ; 
how  tradition  and  the  world-force  were  striving  to- 
gether. Then  he  spoke,  and  the  words  fell  sharp  as 
knives  upon  the  thick  emotion  that  she  had  con- 
jured up. 

"Are  we  friends?" 

The  question  held  much  more  than  the  spoken 
query.  It  was  a  denial,  and  a  challenge.  At  once  it 
dismissed  the  possibility,  the  pretense  of  a  friendship 
between  them,  and  declared  her  his  supplicant,  de- 
manded her  confession.  It  was  a  tightening  of  the 
already  taut  string  upon  which  they  had  been  harp- 
ing, and  which,  at  another  twist,  must  surely  snap. 

Oh,  the  terrible,  the  sweetly  fearsome  portent 
which,  to  Iris,  the  little  sentence  seemed  to  bear! 


A    BYZANTINE    PRINCESS  337 

Her  heart  beat  to  suffocation,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
she  must  swoon  for  very  ecstacy  at  what  would 
surely  follow.  Intensely  sensitive  to  his  nearness, 
to  the  dramatic  setting,  to  the  strangeness  of  the 
hour — an  hour  when  all  waking  humanity  is  keyed 
to  the  highest  emotional  pitch,  she  waited  in  painful 
yet  delightful  expectancy.  The  dear  expectancy  of 
the  moment  hovered  like  perfume  before  her  dis- 
tended nostrils,  like  color  before  her  half-closed  eyes. 

"Are  we  friends?" 

Her  voice  was  low  and  vibrant  as  she  made  her 
reply,  her  words,  like  his,  carrying  a  double  meaning 
that  was  equally  apparent  to  them  both,  under  its 
pretense  of  being  matter-of-fact. 

"I  don't  feel  very  much  like  a  'friend'  of  yours," 
she  said. 

"How  do  you  feel,  then  ?"  he  asked  gently. 

"How  do  I  feel?"  she  cried.  "I  feel  like— like 
this!" 

And  slipping  from  the  sofa  before  he  could  pre- 
vent her,  she  fell  upon  her  knees  in  front  of  him, 
and  clasping  her  hands  as  if  in  worship,  gazed  up 
at  him  adoringly,  almost  touching  him  as  she  knelt. 

"That  is  how  I  feel,"  said  Iris. 


338  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Don't,  don't !"  said  Pedro  in  a  broken  voice. 

"I  love  you !"  said  Iris.  "Why,  you  surely  know  it 
—you  must  have  seen  it !" 

She  spoke  with  the  glad  note  of  one  who  confesses 
what  they  believe  to  be  the  most  desired  of  facts. 

"Don't !"  Pedro  pleaded  again. 

"But  why  should  I  not?"  she  asked  radiantly. 
"I  love  you!  Do  you  not  like  to  hear  me  say  it? 
Does  not  my  having  come  here  in  this  manner  prove 
it?" 

"No !"  he  cried  in  agony,  springing  to  his  feet  as 
though  to  defend  himself  from  something.  "No,  it 
proves  nothing  of  the  kind.  You  do  not,  can  not 
love  me!  It  is  impossible,  impossible.  I  have  already 
told  you  so.  Ah !  I  can  not  endure  to  have  you  act 
so !  And  this  is  Hill's  own  room !" 

"But  I  do  love  you !"  she  cried,  following  him. 
"Pedro !  touch  me — tell  me  that  you  care !  Kiss  me, 
Pedro!" 

"Never!"  he  said  fiercely.  "You  do  not  love  me 
— you  love  Hill!  Yes,  yes,  you  do,  although  you  do 
not  realize  it.  I  am  really  nothing  to  you  but  a  re- 
action— a  pastime !" 

"That  is  not  true !"  she  sobbed. 

"It  is!"  he  shrilled.    "You  have  loved  Hill  all 


A    BYZANTINE    PRINCESS  339 

along !  Me!  Why,  it  is  out  of  the  question  that  you 
should  care  for  me.  It  is  against  Nature!  The  at- 
mosphere of  the  studio  is  what  you  love  here,  the  in- 
formality, the  careless  freedom;  but,  me — ah!  no. 
You  love  Love  itself  primarily,  and  to-night  it  has 
mastered  you.  But  the  man  whom  you  love  is 
Hill." 

"Ah !  so  you  care  nothing  for  me,  after  all !"  she 
moaned.  "But  I  am  past  pride;  kiss  me,  Pedro!" 

"I  will  not!"  he  cried,  retreating  from  her.  "I 
love  you  in  my  own  way — as  much  as  I  can  love  any 
woman — but  I  will  not  kiss  you !  You  are  mad  to- 
night. It  is  the  environment,  the  situation,  not  me, 
that  has  so  aroused  you.  You  must  go  home !" 

"Kiss  me,  Pedro,"  said  Iris  with  outstretched 
arms. 

Roughly  he  flung  her  away. 

"Listen!"  he  commanded,  "you  don't  know  what 
you  are  doing.  You  are  nothing  but  an  infatuated 
little  animal  to-night.  You  no  more  love  me  than 
you  love  that  lamp — than  the  hovering  moth  loves 
it!  There  is  a  splendid  man  who  does  love  you,  and 
you  return  his  affection,  although  you  do  not  appear 
to  be  conscious  of  it;  but  take  warning — and  open 
your  eyes  to  the  fact.  Do  so  before  you  succeed  in 


340  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

singeing  your  wings  at  some  such  earth-fire  as  you 
have  tried  to  light  to-night!     Love  is  a  sacred,  a 
wonderful   thing,    and   it   comes   to   us   but  once; 
Heaven   forgive   us   if  we  fail  to  recognize  it  then, 
and  desecrate  or  lose  it.    And  heaven  have  mercy 
on  the  torments  we  shall  endure  in  such  a  pass. 
Guard  your  love  as  a  pure  flame  upon  the  highest 
altar  of  your  individuality;  keep  it  in  that  secret 
inner  chamber  wherein  is  hid  the  force  which  links 
you  to  your  fellow-beings,  and  which  is  called  the 
soul.    .    .    .    Listen  to  me! — With  every  kiss  you 
give  lightly,  you  rob,  not  only  your  true  lover,  but 
your  true  self.     Each  small  affair  will  make  the 
great  one  less  great.     Believe  me,  to  make  com- 
parisons  is   unavoidable.      How,   then,   will   it  be, 
when  the  dear  one  kisses  you,  to  say  to  yourself  the 
while,  'Harry  did  it  differently,  Tony  did  it  such  a 
way,  and  Pedro,  too,  he  had  a  style — but  this  is  bet- 
ter !'  Will  it  not  belittle  that  so  sacred  kiss,  eh  ?  And 
do  you  think  you  could  avoid  making  such  a  com- 
parison, eh?    Ah!  Madonna!  take  no  lesser  loves; 
wait  for  the  great  one,  though  you  die  a  maiden ;  it 
is  better  so !" 

But  she  had  not  been  listening. 


A    BYZANTINE    PRINCESS  34' 

"Kiss  me!"  said  she. 

"No!"  cried  Pedro. 

"Touch  me,  then!"  she  cried  wildly.  "Take  my 
hand — anything!  I  am  mad  for  the  touch  of  your 
hand!" 

"Will  you  not  listen  to  reason?"  he  implored.  "I 
can  not  endure  that  you  should  belittle  yourself  so ! 
I  can  not  love  you  as  you  wish,  and  again  I  repeat, 
you  do  not  love  me :  I  have  been  nothing  but  a  re- 
action— a  spite,  perhaps, — a  vent  for  your  emotions. 
You  are  led  on  only  by  passion.  There!  I  have 
spoken  it.  Say  what  you  will,  it  is  the  truth.  I  am 
sorry,  but  I  know  not  how  to  drape  such  matters  with 
prudery." 

She  gasped  a  little,  and  then  came  to  him  sway- 
ingly,  and  placed  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  the 
blue  cloak  sweeping  about  her  seductively.  The  scar- 
let mouth  was  raised  toward  him. 

"I  do  not  care !"  she  breathed.  "You  may  not  love 
me — but  I  love  you!  Take  me  if  you  will,  on  any 
terms.  I  am  ready." 

Silence.  Then — 

"It  is  impossible!"  he  ejaculated. 

Another  short  pause. 


342  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Why  did  you  lead  me  on  to  speak?"  she  de- 
manded, a  note  of  anger  creeping  into  her  voice. 

"Because  I  knew  it  had  to  come.  The  sooner  the 
matter  was  explained  the  better,"  he  answered. 

"But  you  are  making  no  explanation,"  she  com- 
plained tenderly.  "Come!  I  shall  not  let  you  go  un- 
til you  do !" 

And  she  slid  her  hands  down  to  his,  gripping  them 
tightly. 

"I  can  not!" 

"But  you  shall!"  she  insisted.  "What  is  this  mysr 
terious  reason  why  you  can  not  love  me — why  it  is 
impossible?.  Tell  it  to  me !  I  will  prove  to  you  that 
it  is  a  mere  phantom !  For  despite  what  you  say  I 
know  that  I  mean  a  great  deal  to  you.  I  see  it  in 
your  eyes !  Only  tell  me  what  it  is  and  I  will  prove 
that  this  monstrous  difficulty  can  be  overcome !" 

"I  can  not  tell  you,"  said  Pedro  wearily,  "and  even 
if  I  did,  you  would  be  helpless  to  alter  it." 

A  sudden  alarm  blanched  her  face. 

"You  love  another  woman  ?"  she  whispered. 

"I  love  no  other  woman,"  he  told  her. 

She  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 

"Ah!  then  it  can  be  overcome!"  she  said.  "Tell 
me,  what  is  it?" 


A    BYZANTINE    PRINCESS  343 

"I  can  not  tell." 

"You  must!" 

"I  will  not.   It  is  my  secret!" 

"I  will  keep  it!" 

"You  would  intend  to,  I  know,  but  I  dare  trust  no 
one." 

"This  is  unfair  to  me!"  cried  Iris.  "You  torture 
me,  and  yet  you  give  me  no  reason  for  doing  so." 

Pedro  drew  a  long  breath.  If  it  was  unfair  to  her, 
why  then  .  .  . 

"I  will  tell  you,"  he  said  unhappily. 

The  world  was  very  still.  One  by  one  the  lamps 
had  guttered  and  burned  out  till  only  a  single  taper 
was  left,  and  the  embers  on  the  hearth  were  dead. 
The  room  was  very  cold,  and  strangely  silent,  as 
she  waited,  with  bated  breath.  Through  the  great 
skylight  the  first  faint  blue  of  dawn  was  creeping  in, 
making  the  vast  apartment  weird,  unfamiliar;  and  a 
chill  odor  of  snow  was  in  the  air.  Would  he  never 
speak?  The  silence  seemed  interminable.  But  at  last 
he  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  her  with  great  un- 
happy eyes  that  reproached  her  for  the  tribute  she 
exacted.  Then  his  lips  formed  words  that  refused 
to  make  themselves  heard.  He  ran  his  red  tongue 
out  to  moisten  them.  Then  he  tried  again. 


344  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"It  is  because  I  am  not  a  man !"  he  articulated. 
"Not  a  man !"  she  gasped.   "God  in  heaven,  what 
do  you  mean?" 

"That  I  am  a  girl,"  said  Pedro  miserably. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

PLOTS 

NOW  on  the  evening  of  that  day  upon  which 
Pedro  first  learned  of  Hill's  disappearance, 
and  shutting  the  studio  door  behind  him,  sallied 
forth  in  the  wake  of  the  anxious  Guneviere,  the 
ground  floor  of  the  Muldoon  Place  house  served 
to  stage  a  curious  scene. 

It  was  past  eight  o'clock  when  the  first  actor  ap- 
peared, and  entering  the  large  old-fashioned  parlor, 
proceeded  to  light  the  lamp  upon  the  center  table. 
It  was  Rowe,  or  Ricardo  Valdez  himself,  and  the 
anxious  manner  in  which  he  glanced  at  the  clock  be- 
trayed the  fact  that  he  was  expecting  the  arrival  of 
some  one.  After  he  had  settled  the  light  to  his  satis- 
faction, he  went  to  a  small  safe  that  occupied  one 
corner  of  the  room,  and  taking  a  key  from  his 
watch-chain,  worked  the  combination,  and  presently 
swung  open  the  heavy  door. 

He  knelt  before  the  open  safe,  and  extracting 
a  little  packet  of  official-looking  documents,  pro- 

345 


346  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

ceeded  to  compare  one  of  them  with  another  which 
he  took  from  his  breast  pocket.  The  comparison 
seemed  to  satisfy  him,  for  presently  he  put  all 
back  in  their  pigeonhole,  including  that  which  he 
had  been  carrying,  and  then  looked  at  the  clock 
again.  It  still  wanted  a  moment  or  two  to  the  hour  of 
his  appointment,  and  he  utilized  these  to  place  in  se- 
curity a  considerable  sum  of  money  in  bank  notes. 
Then  the  door-bell  tinkled,  and  hastily  locking  the 
safe,  he  arose  to  answer  the  summons. 

The  man  who  stood,  hat  in  hand,  at  the  entrance 
was  none  other  than  he,  who,  in  disguise  of  a  way- 
farer, had  attempted  to  rob  Iris  on  the  lonely  road 
that  autumn  day,  long  past.  Now  he  was  shaved, 
garbed  in  the  inconspicuous  clothing  of  respecta- 
bility, and  it  would  have  taken  a  second  glance  to  tell 
the  chance  observer  that  the  face  was  untrustworthy. 
Rowe  made  a  welcoming  gesture,  and  the  man 
stepped  in,  laying  aside  his  outer  garments. 

"I  am  the  first,  I  see,"  said  he  in  the  same  lan- 
guage. "Why  do  we  meet  here?  Is  it  safe?" 

"Hill  may  be  missed,"  explained  Rowe,  "and  we 
are  certainly  being  watched.  Consequently,  this 
place  is  safer  than  any  other.  To  all  appearances  it 
will  merely  be  an  evening  party.  Any  news  ?" 


PLOTS  347 

"Yes,"  said  the  other,  "I  have  something  for  you." 

"Give  it  to  me  before  the  others  come,"  said  Rowe 
nervously.  "It  is  from  Venezuela,  of  course." 

"Certainly!"  said  the  other,  "and  fortunate  it  is 
for  you,  my  friend,  that  I  am  in  the  employ  of  the 
post-office  of  the  United  States.  Otherwise  it  is 
scarcely  likely  that  the  millionaire  asphalt  contrac- 
tor's greetings  from  the  Venezuelan  government 
would  come  into  your  hands." 

"You  are  well  paid,"  retorted  Rowe,  "and  in  the 
future  you  shall  be  paid  even  better,  but  of  that  later. 
Let  me  see  what  they  say.  Of  late  it  has  been  very 
difficult  to  alter  the  communications  in  such  a  way 
as  to  render  them  sufficiently  antipathetic.  They  are 
growing  rather  friendly  toward  him,  and  on  several 
occasions  I  have  been  obliged  to  suppress  letters  en- 
tirely. That  one  which  you  allowed  to  reach  him 
was  nearly  fatal  to  our  plans." 

"But  you  repaired  the  damage!" 

"With  infinite  risk  and  pains!"  retorted  Rowe. 
"Although  I  have  opened  and  altered  so  many  epis- 
tles both  of  his  and  theirs  and  have  become  pretty 
expert.  You  must  remember  that  the  man  we  are 
dealing  with  at  this  end,  at  least,  is  no  fool." 

"Yes,  Vanderpool  is  no  fool !"  agreed  the  man. 


348  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Hush!  No  names,  I  beg!"  warned  Rowe,  "and 
lower  your  voice,  my  friend."  Then  he  continued  in 
a  more  composed  tone.  "It  is  essential  that  he  should 
go  on  believing  that  we  are  necessary  to  his  success. 
Once  he  discovered  that  the  Venezuelan  secretary 
of  commerce  would  be  willing  to  treat  with  him  di- 
rect, we  should  lose  our  hold  upon  him,  and  with 
him,  our  chances  of  improving  our  fortunes!  But 
come,  let  us  see  your  latest  find !" 

The  man  fished  for  a  moment  in  the  inside  pocket 
of  his  coat,  and  then  brought  out  a  letter  similar  in 
appearance  to  those  that  Rowe  had  concealed  in 
the  safe.  The  latter  took  it  eagerly,  and  examined 
the  seal.  Then,  going  to  the  alcove  where  a  number 
of  dishes  and  arrangements  for  light  housekeeping 
were  stowed,  he  lighted  an  alcohol  burner  of  great 
power.  After  heating  a  small  instrument  in  the  al- 
most invisible  flame,  he  skilfully  removed  the  seal 
and  in  another  moment  the  letter  lay  open  before 
him.  As  he  read,  the  crease  between  his  eyes  deep- 
ened. Then  his  face  cleared. 

"This  will  give  little  trouble!"  he  exclaimed. 
"  'Can'  must  be  changed  to  'can  not',  and  there  is 
plenty  of  space  in  which  to  do  so.  Then  it  will  ap- 
pear to  our  patron  that  the  Honorable  Don  Juan  del 


PLOTS  349 

Costa  can  not  agree  to  do  as  he  is  asked  in  the  little 
matter  of  bringing  the  asphalt  question  before  the 
government !  Well,  to-morrow  will  do  for  that!  The 
envelope  has  not  been  stamped  at  this  end,  I  see." 

"Of  course  not!"  said  the  other.    "Who  is  that?" 

A  second  time  the  bell  tinkled,  and  Rowe  put  the 
letter  in  his  breast,  carefully  preserving  its  fasten- 
ings. 

"It  must  be  Casablanca  and  the  captain,"  he  re- 
plied. "Do  you  admit  them !" 

The  postal  employee  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  in  an- 
other moment  there  entered  two  men,  both  Latin  in 
type,  one  of  them  being  the  little  officer  whom  Hill 
had  seen  aboard  the  ship,  and  the  other,  a  larger 
man,  who  was  the  vessel's  captain.  At  sight  of  Rowe 
they  bowed  politely,  a  courtesy  that  was  returned 
with  all  possible  formality,  and  then,  the  four  hav- 
ing drawn  chairs  up  about  the  center  table,  the  cap- 
tain turned  a  swarthy  face  upon  his  host  and  put  a 
question. 

"Signor  Valdez,"  he  began,  "I  presume  that  some- 
thing of  vital  import  has  moved  you  to  summon  us 
here  to-night?" 

"You  are  correct  in  your  surmise,"  replied  Rowe, 
"and  we  shall  come  to  the  point  without  delay." 


350  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

The  captain  looked  about  him  in  surprise. 

"But  Vanderpool,  he  is  not  here !"  he  commented. 

"No,  for  a  reason  that  is  of  the  best,"  declared 
Rowe,  "and  Signor  Captain,  I  beg  that  we  do  not 
use  the  name — it  is  more  discreet." 

"Ah!"  replied  the  man  addressed.  "Then  it  is 

some  matter  of  which  Mr.  • ,  the  gentleman  is 

to  have  no  knowledge?" 

"You  anticipate  my  meaning  exactly,"  said  Rowe. 

"Well  then,  what  is  it?"  asked  the  man  who  had 
arrived  first. 

"My  friends — my  very  good  friends,"  began 
Rowe  slowly,  tracing  the  table-cloth  designs  with  a 
stiletto,  which,  in  its  capacity  of  paper-cutter,  lay 
at  hand,  "I  shall  tell  you  all ;  but  first  let  us  review 
the  situation  as  it  stands.  To  begin  with,  then,  there 
is  to  be  a  revolution  in  Venezuela,  in  which  we  are 
engaged — a  fact  that  we  are  absorbed  in  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  all  else  at  this  time,  being  good  patriots 
all,  and  having  the  best  interests  of  our  splendid 
country  most  sincerely  at  heart.  Secondly,  our 
patron,  who  shall  be  nameless,  is  backing  this  pa- 
triotic and  righteous  enterprise  with  his  good  Amer- 
ican dollars.  Now,  to  those  interested  and  active  in 
this  most  glorious  undertaking,  he  has  represented 


PLOTS  35i 

frankly  that  he  is  not  so  much  interested  in  the  over- 
throw of  the  present  rotten  and  corrupt  government 
because  it  is  such  an  iniquitous  administration,  as 
because  of  his  immense  asphalt  interests  there,  and 
the  disproportionate  export-tax  which  is  at  present 
being  put  upon  it,  and  which  a  clean  new  govern- 
ment would  promise  in  advance  to  diminish.  All  this 
he  has  told  you  and  it  is  true  as  far  as  it  goes.  But 
there  is  another  and  a  deeper  interest  which  is  the 
real  motive  behind  his  assistance,  and  which  is 
known  to  me  alone;  more,  without  my  holding  out 
this  interest  as  bait  to  him,  there  would  be  no  money 
forthcoming,  and  consequently,  no  revolution  at  all !" 

There  was  a  moment  of  stupefied  surprise.  Then 
the  captain  brought  his  fist  down  upon  the  table 
resonantly. 

"What  do  you  say !  No  revolution !  Are  you  try- 
ing to  make  fools  of  us,  or  do  you  really  hold  such 
a  secret  ?  Come,  no  playing,  we  are  busy  men !" 

"I  have  made  no  exaggeration  of  the  truth, 
senors,"  replied  Rowe.  "And  it  will  take  but  little 
time  to  prove  as  much.  Let  us  speak  of  Senora 
Daussa!" 

"Ah !  the  brave  and  noble  senora !"  exclaimed  the 
little  officer  fervently.  "It  is  she,  whose  presence 


352  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

among  us  and  whose  interest  in  our  cause,  gives  us 
the  so  much  needed  courage!  Whose  immense  popu- 
larity will  be  of  such  value  to  us !" 

"Wait!"  said  Rowe.  "Let  me  inform  you,  first  of 
all,  that  the  honored  signora  knows  no  more  of  this 
revolution  than  this  table  does !" 

"Knows  nothing  of  the  plans !  Why,  Valdez,  is  it 
not  her  interest  which  has  banded  us  together, 
which — ,"  began  the  captain. 

"Her  interest !  You  have  only  my  word  for  that," 
said  Rowe.  "You  have  never — not  one  of  you — 
spoken  a  single  syllable  with  her  on  the  subject!" 

It  was  too  true.  Save  for  that  one  interview,  when 
little  or  nothing  had  been  said,  Signora  Daussa's 
sympathy  and  support  had  been  taken  entirely  upon 
hearsay,  furnished  only  by  Rowe  and  Sancho. 

"This  is  most  extraordinary !"  exclaimed  the  cap- 
tain in  bewilderment.  "Will  you  please  to  explain 
this  action  of  yours  in  so  deceiving  us — and  further- 
more, what  bearing  it  has  upon  Vanderpool?" 

"The  last  is  the  easiest  to  reply  to,"  replied  Rowe, 
"and,  therefore,  to  take  it  first.  What  bearing  has  it 
upon  Vanderpool  ?  Good  captain,  she  is  the  bait!" 

"Dios!"  exclaimed  the  first  man.  There  was  a 
pause,  then : 


PLOTS  353 

"Is  it  permitted  to  ask  how?"  said  the  captain  with 
exaggerated  politeness. 

"But  certainly,"  replied  Rowe  cheerfully.  "Van- 
derpool  has  been  in  love  with  her  for  years ;  he  be- 
lieves her  to  be  a  prisoner  in  Venezuela.  /  alone  of 
his  acquaintances  know  exactly  where  she  is!  Ha! 
ha  !  behold  your  revolution !  It  is  very  simple." 

"And  she!  How  do  you  hold  her,  and  where?" 
demanded  the  captain,  his  face  purpling  ominously. 
"How  comes  she  to  be  with  you?" 

"That  is  soon  told — at  least,  part  of  it,"  said  Rowe, 
who,  for  hidden  reasons  of  his  own  seemed  bent  on 
making  a  considerable  confession.  "She  also  has 
been  in  love  with  him  for  many  years,  and  I  am  sup- 
posed to  be  assisting  her  to  find  him.  Find  him, 
while  all  the  time  I  am  in  constant  touch  with  him ! 
Meanwhile,  I  tell  her  that  the  search  is  hopeless — 
that  I  can  not  find  this  lover  of  hers !  Ah !  ah !" 

"And  where  is  she?"  growled  the  captain,  never 
taking  his  eyes  from  Rowe. 

"That  is  another  question,"  snapped  Rowe.  "That 
is  something  that  I  do  not  intend  to  answer,  save 
that  you  are  not  likely  to  learn." 

"Then  in  the  devil's  name,  what  is  your  scheme — 
what  do  you  want  to  do?"  roared  the  captain.  "First 


THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

you  mislead  us  into  joining  the  revolution  on  the 
strength  of  Signora  Daussa's  influence,  proposing  to 
make  her  son  president,  even  as  his  idolized  father 
was ;  and  now  that  we  are  in  too  deep  to  withdraw, 
you  tell  us  that  she  knows  nothing  of  the  plot,  and 
by  that,  of  course,  intimate  that  she  would  not  ap- 
prove it !  You  defraud  Vanderpool,  playing  him  and 
the  senora  off  against  each  other,  and  then,  at  the 
eleventh  hour  you  summon  us  and  disclose  this  as- 
tounding matter.  What  does  it  mean  ?  Explain,  for 
by  the  Holy  Mother,  you  shall  not  leave  this  room 
until  you  have  done  so  !" 

A  subtle  inscrutable  smile  played  around  the  cor- 
ners of  Rowe's  mouth,  and  he  lighted  a  fresh  cigar 
with  much  deliberation  before  replying.  Then  he 
looked  the  captain  squarely  in  the  eyes  and  his  jaw 
took  on  a  determined  set  that  made  it  seem  squarer 
than  ever. 

"I  intend  to  be  dictator  of  Venezuela,"  he  said 
very  distinctly. 

Again  silence.  On  the  old-fashioned  marble  man- 
tle-shelf, an  ornate  little  clock  ticked  loudly,  and 
from  somewhere  near  at  hand  came  a  low  moan,  so 
low  and  faint  that  none  of  the  men  heard  it,  pre- 


PLOTS  355 

posessed  as  they  were  with  the  stupendous  statement 
that  had  just  been  made. 

"And  how  do  you  intend  going  about  attaining 
this  mild  ambition?"  asked  the  second  officer  with 
mock  courtesy.  A  look  from  Rowe  cut  him  short,  and 
wiped  the  smile  from  his  face. 

"I  have  already  gone  about  it,"  Rowe  said  in  his 
precise  way.  "It  only  remains  for  you  gentlemen  to 
make  a  decision  between  the  situations.  On  one 
hand,  you  support  me,  lend  me  the  power  which 
you  control — a  no  mean  force  as  I  am  quite  aware — 
and  I  will  present  you  each  with  the  official  appoint- 
ment which  you  most  desire  in  the  Venezuelan  gov- 
ernment— you  shall  be  ministers,  admirals,  premiers 
— even  treasurers — any  thing  you  will,  when  once  I 
am  seated  in  the  presidential  chair.  On  the  other 
hand,  refuse,  and  I  will  simply  bring  my  two  turtle- 
doves together,  and  there  will  be  no  revolution. 
Mark  my  words — the  tariff  on  asphalt  is  only  a  mi- 
nor issue  with  our  friend.  Once  he  has  the  lady,  he'll 
risk  neither  life  nor  money  in  our  enterprise!" 

"I  do  not  believe  you !"  cried  the  second  officer 
hotly.  "I  think  you  are  lying!" 

Rowe  looked  straight  at  him,  meeting  him  eye  to 
•ye- 


356  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"You  know  I  am  not  lying,"  he  responded  slowly. 
"Try  it,  if  you  doubt  me !" 

"You  would  be  ruined  if  we  did  so  and  it  proved 
true,"  murmured  the  captain. 

"I'd  rather  see  us  all  ruined  than  fail  of  my  pet 
plan,"  rejoined  Rowe. 

A  long  silence  followed,  which  was  broken  at  last 
by  the  captain,  who  arose  with  a  sigh. 

"Well,  Valdez,"  said  he,  "you  have  got  us  at  your 
— shall  we  say — mercy  ?  I  think  the  other  gentlemen 
will  agree  that  there  is  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  con- 
sent to  help  you,  and  incidentally,  ourselves,  if  you 
are  to  be  trusted  to  fulfil  your  promises  to  us,  which 
I  doubt.  Any  other  course  we  may  take  seems  even 
more  likely  to  land  us  in  prison  than  this  does." 

One  by  one  they  agreed  and  then,  with  a  regal 
gesture,  Rowe  dismissed  them. 

"To-morrow  we  shall  talk,"  he  said.  "I  shall  meet 
you  all  here  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Mean- 
while, sweet  dreams  of  our  future  power." 

Then,  one  by  one,  they  left,  stringing  out  down  the 
steps,  and  clanking  across  the  little  paved  court, 
leaving  him  alone. 

"Gracias  a  Dios,  that  is  over!"  said  he,  stretching 
luxuriously. 


PLOTS  357 

"It  is  not  over !"  said  a  voice  behind  him. 

He  wheeled  about,  and  there  stood  the  sefiora,  her 
golden  hair  in  disorder,  her  face  white  as  death. 

"I  have  been  outside  for  ten  minutes,"  she  said, 
"and  I  have  heard  everything!" 

"Heard — you — you  listened!"  he  stammered,  the 
room  seeming  to  reel  about  him. 

"Yes!  I  heard!  I  listened  and  I  found  out  how 
you  have  been  deceiving  me — you,  whom  I  have 
trusted,  whom  I  have  loved  as  a  friend  of  my  heart, 
whom  I  have  put  my  faith  in,  and  come  away  with 
into  this  strange  land.  Oh!  you  have  cheated  and 
reviled  me,  and  I  believed  in  you.  You  have  lied  to 
me — lied,  lied,  lied!  About  my  lover  you  have  lied, 
about  my  country,  about  your  patriotism — you  have 
used  me  as  a  tool  with  which  to  accomplish  your 
own  dishonorable  ambitions !  Have  you  lied  to  me 
about  my  child?  Answer  me!  Is  she  dead,  even  as 
you  said  ?  Why  does  she  write  no  more  ?  Tell  me,  do 
you  know  ?  Ah !  I  would  not  believe  you  even  if  you 
spoke,  and  yet,  I  must — I  must —  Where  is  my 
lover?  Where?  Tell  me!  You  shall  tell  me!  I  will 
have  the  truth  out  of  your  lying  throat!" 

"Carmen!"  he  cried.  "For  the  love  of  God  be 
quiet !  You  are  like  a  mad  woman." 


358  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"Mad!"  she  screamed.  "Would  you  not  be  mad? 
Tell  me  where  he  is,  I  say !" 

"I  will  not!"  he  stormed.  "Tell  you — do  you  think 
/  am  mad  also?" 

"Then,  if  you  do  not  tell  me,  I  will  leave  you !" 
she  said  through  her  teeth. 

His  eyes  were  bloodshot  as  he  glared  at  her  furi- 
ously. 

"You  shall  pay  for  this,  you  wild-cat !"  he  panted. 
"I  will  tell  you  nothing!  And  you  are  a  prisoner 
from  this  moment !" 

She  gave  a  laugh,  a  terrible  mirthless  laugh,  and 
clenched  her  hands  at  her  sides,  rigidly. 

"Again  you  lie!"  she  flung  at  him.  "I  am  no  pris- 
oner !  I  am  going  to  find  my  lover !" 

And  turning  swiftly,  she  flung  open  the  door, 
stepped  out  and  closed  it  after  her,  locking  it  as  she 
did  so. 

"Carmen !"  screamed  Rowe,  beating  on  the  panels. 
"Carmen  !  I  love  you !  Come  back,  and  I  will  help 
you,  Carmen!" 

But  Senora  Carmen  Daussa  was  gone,  without 
money,  without  English,  without  the  least  knowledge 
of  the  city  or  of  the  way  to  turn — gone  in  search  of 
her  lover ! 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

AND  COUNTERPLOTS 

WHEN  Pedro  and  Sam  Hill  separated  on  the 
night  of  their  Jersey  adventure,  the  latter 
made  straight  for  Jones  Street,  accompanied  by 
Beau- Jean,  and  upon  reaching  the  refuge  of  the 
rear  tenement,  tumbled  into  bed  without  more  ado, 
and  for  seven  hours  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just,  his 
head  upon  an  improvised  pillow  of  quilting — be- 
neath which  his  hand  grasped  the  precious  document 
that  Iris,  as  he  thought,  had  sent  him. 

Very  possibly  his  repose  would  have  continued  for 
a  much  longer  period,  had  it  not  been  for  the  ac- 
tivity of  Guneviere  and  Hermania  in  the  room  im- 
mediately below.  These  ladies,  their  household  du- 
ties, as  usual,  entirely  neglected,  were  loudly  ap- 
plauding Old  Nita's  efforts  to  instruct  Koko  in  a 
new  accomplishment;  namely,  to  use  as  cymbals  the 
lids  of  two  fish-kettles  strapped  to  his  front  paws. 

Now  the  clash  of  cymbals,  no  matter  how  amateur- 
ish and  uncertain  the  performer's  efforts,  is  not  con- 

359 


36o  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY, 

ducive  to  slumber,  to  say  the  least  of  it ;  and,  there- 
fore, with  a  groan  of  protest,  Sam  returned  to  con- 
sciousness of  all  that  had  befallen  him,  and  all  that 
was  yet  to  be  undertaken.  While  he  washed  and 
shaved,  he  pondered  deeply  upon  how  he  should  set 
about  getting  the  information  that  Iris  desired.  As 
he  drew  on  his  boots  he  still  wondered,  and  uncer- 
tainty did  not  cease  with  the  knotting  of  a  silk  ban- 
danna about  his  throat.  But  at  about  this  point,  hun- 
ger began  to  distract  his  attention,  and  so,  deciding 
that  he  would  be  able  to  think  more  collectively  upon 
a  full  stomach,  he  descended  to  the  flat  below  and 
demanded  to  be  fed. 

Koko  dropped  to  his  all  fours  at  this  intrusion, 
glad  to  be  rid  of  the  encumbering  kettle-lids,  which 
Old  Nita  untied,  grumbling  at  the  interruption  of 
the  lesson,  but  nevertheless  delighted  to  see  Hill.  The 
other  two  women  bustled  about  and  prepared  food 
for  him,  and  soon  he  was  munching  ruminatively, 
oblivious  of,  and  impervious  to,  the  questions  that 
they  showered  upon  him.  Upon  a  couch  in  the  cor- 
ner lay  Anna,  silent  and  pale,  while  Rico,  who 
lounged  upon  the  foot  of  the  couch,  bent  over  and 
whispered  to  her  occasionally.  For  all  the  notice 
they  took  of  th«  other  occupants  of  the  dirty  little 


AND    COUNTERPLOTS  361 

room,  they  might  have  been  alone.  At  last,  Hill's 
attention  was  arrested  by  them,  however,  and  he  in- 
quired if  Anna  were  ill. 

"No,"  replied  Nita.  "She  is  going  to  have  a  baby 
in  the  spring,  that  is  all,  and  she  is  getting  so  that 
she  will  not  let  Rico  out  of  her  sight;  nor  will  she 
go  out  with  him  to  dance  the  bear.  How  they  will 
live,  I  do  not  know,  what  with  bringing  no  money 
in,  and  such  idleness !  They  are  a  pair  of  fools,  those 
two.  I  am  a  very  wicked  woman,  I  am,  but  I  really 
do  think  they  should  get  married  now." 

"Are  they  not  married?"  said  Hill,  surprised. 
"Why  not,  do  you  suppose?" 

Nita  merely  shrugged  and  turned  away  upon  some 
matter  of  her  own.  Hill,  cup  in  hand,  arose  and  ap- 
proached the  lovers. 

"Bon  jour"  said  he  abruptly.  "Why  the  devil 
aren't  you  married?" 

Rico  looked  up  pleasantly,  his  smile  ever  ready 
and  friendly  for  the  beloved  Samhill.  Then,  as  the 
latter's  words  sank  into  the  unknown  depths  of  his 
slow  mind,  a  cloud  crossed  his  handsome  face. 

"Married?  Why, I  do  not  really  know,  mon  ami," 
he  responded  slowly.  "Anna — why  are  we  not  mar- 
ried?" 


362  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

For  a  moment  she  looked  as  bewildered  as  Rico, 
and  then  a  smile  of  understanding  broke  upon  her 
lips. 

"Why !"  she  said,  "we  love  each  other !  We  have 
been  very,  very  busy  loving  each  other,  and  dancing 
the  bear.  I  do  not  believe  we  ever  thought  about 
•getting  married." 

So  serious  and  obviously  sincere  was  this  reply, 
that  Hill  scarcely  knew  whether  to  laugh  or  frown. 
But  to  refrain  from  making  the  patent  suggestion 
was  impossible. 

"Why  not  do  it,  now  that  it  occurs  to  you?" 
said  he. 

Rico  looked  at  him  earnestly. 

"Do  you  advise  it,  Samhillf"  he  asked.  "We 
could  not  love  each  other  the  more  because  of  a  few 
words  said  over  us !" 

"Very  true,"  replied  the  painter  gravely,  "but 
there  is  the  child  to  consider.  You  would  like  it  to 
bear  your  name,  would  you  not?" 

"It  shall  be  called  Rico  if  it  is  a  boy,"  said  Anna's 
lover,  "but  a  girl  would  be  Anna,  so  what  is  to  be 
gained  in  that  case?" 

"But  your  last  name,"  insisted  Hill. 

"Last  name?  But  I  have  none!"  objected  Rico. 


AND    COUNTERPLOTS  363 

X 

To  gain  time,  Hill  finished  off  his  coffee. 

"It  would  take  a  long  while  to  explain  just  why  it 
is  a  good  plan  to  be  married,"  said  he  at  last  "But 
if  you  are  willing  to  take  my  word  for  it,  allow  me 
to  say,  that  it  is  good!  In  fact,  I  am  contemplating 
doing  it  myself  before  very  long." 

"Well,"  said  Rico,  "if  you  say  it  is  good,  it  must 
be  so.  We  will  find  a  priest  if  you  agree,  Anna." 

"I've  no  objections,"  replied  Anna;  and  so  it  was 
arranged. 

Leaving  them  to  discuss  the  idea,  Hill  again  fell 
to  planning  how  best  to  approach  Vanderpool,  that 
he  might  without  unnecessary  delay  follow  the  ad- 
vice that  he  had  just  offered  to  Rico. 

In  the  midst  of  an  "egg-and-lentils",  the  idea 
came  to  him.  Why  not  go  direct  to  Vanderpool  at 
his  office  and  put  the  matter  frankly  before  him? 
Preposterous  as  the  notion  seemed  at  first,  the  more 
he  thought  upon  it,  the  more  plausible  it  appeared. 
Was  there  not  as  good  a  chance  of  finding  out  the 
truth  in  this  manner  as  in  any  other?  Vanderpool 
had  agreed  to  his,  Hill's,  incarceration  it  was  true, 
but  the  reasons  for  so  doing  were  strong,  and  his 
objections  had  been  overruled  by  the  rest  of  the  gang 
with  whom  the  asphalt  magnate  had  appeared  to  be 


364  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY. 

associated.  At  any  rate,  it  was  worth  trying.  Van- 
derpool  was  aware  of  the  knowledge  which  he,  Hill, 
possessed,  and  under  any  circumstances  the  latter 
would  be  working  under  a  search-light,  so  to  speak, 
the  moment  his  escape  was  discovered.  On  the 
whole,  the  notion  seemed  a  good  one,  for  by  its  exe- 
cution, nothing  could  be  lost,  while  much  might  be 
gained. 

"And  I  think,"  he  said  aloud,  "that  I  shall  take 
Mr.  Jones ;  he  will  make  me  more  conspicuous  and, 
consequently,  safer." 

"What's  that?"  queried  Nita. 

"Merely  that  I  am  going  out  now,  mother,"  re- 
sponded Hill,  rising  forthwith. 

Out  from  the  dimness  and  dirt  of  the  back  tene- 
ment, from  the  low-roofed  houses,  degraded  man- 
sions of  an  earlier  day,  out  from  the  muck  and 
squalor,  the  slush  and  grime  of  unswept  Greenwich 
into  the  roaring  canon  of  commerce  to  the  east,  went 
Hill,  the  little  brown  bear  tagging  after,  and  joining 
with  his  master  the  river  of  humanity  that  swept 
between  the  towering  cliffs  of  granite  on  either 
hand;  the  strange  incomprehensible  towers,  which 
stretched  up,  up,  higher  than  one  at  their  feet  could 
see,  at  a  single  glance,  any  more  than  he  could  grasp 


AND    COUNTERPLOTS  365 

their  significance  with  a  single  thought.  Before  one 
of  these  buildings  Hill  paused  and  assuring  himself 
that  it  was  that  which  he  sought,  began  maneuvers 
to  gain  admittance. 

At  first  there  was  difficulty  with  the  door-keepers 
on  Mr.  Jones'  account,  but  they  were  successfully 
persuaded,  and  he  passed  them  only  to  be  balked  by 
the  elevator  man.  There  was  more  protest  than  that 
of  the  uniformed  official  to  cope  with,  for  Mr.  Jones 
flatly  refused  to  enter  the  car,  and  in  the  end  Hill 
was  obliged  to  leave  him  in  charge  of  a  half-de- 
lighted, half-frightened  portes* 

"Just  as  well,"  murmured  the  painter,  as  he  was 
spirited  upward.  "If  they  have  any  clap-trap  mys- 
teries about  that  office,  secret  dungeons,  etc.,  and  I 
don't  come  down,  they  will  get  tired  of  holding  the 
bear,  and  come  up  after  me." 

Even  before  he  had  come  to  this  optimistic  conclu- 
sion they  reached  the  twenty-oddth  floor,  and  the 
offices  of  United  Asphalt  Company. 

However,  difficulties  were  not  at  an  end,  and  it 
was  only  after  considerable  argument  and  hauteur 
that  Sam  succeeded  in  having  his  name  sent  in  to  the 
president  of  the  concern.  The  name,  it  seemed,  was 
magical  in  its  effect,  for  almost  instantly  the  super- 


366  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

cilious  office  boy  who  had  condescended  to  take  it  in, 
returned  briskly,  and  invited  "Mr.  Hill  to  please  to 
step  this  way" — and  so,  without  more  ado,  Sam 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  Iris'  father. 

As  Hill  entered  the  luxuriously  appointed  office, 
the  distinguished  man  at  the  wide  shining  desk  did 
not  look  up  until  he  had  finished  addressing  the  let- 
ter upon  which  he  was  engaged.  When  he  had  done 
so,  and  secured  the  seal,  he  turned  and  faced  Hill 
with  the  frank  direct  look  that  was  known  to  be 
characteristic  of  him. 

"Well,  Samuel  Hill!"  he  said,  "so  you  have  not 
only  escaped,  but  felt  it  safest  to  beard  the  lion  in 
his  den — to  seek  out  the  conspirator  in  the  midst  of 
the  market-place.  Why  ?" 

For  an  instant  Hill  wavered  as  to  what  course  was 
best;  and  then,  in  view  of  the  attitude  with  which  he 
himself  had  come  armed,  decided  to  return  frank- 
ness for  frankness. 

"I  have  come  because  of  this,"  said  he  simply, 
taking  Iris'  manifesto  from  his  pocket  and  spread- 
ing it  upon  the  desk  before  her  father.  Vanderpool 
fumbled  at  the  black  silk  ribbon  that  secured  his 
eye-glasses,  found  and  adjusted  them,  and  began 
to  read  the  little  paper.  When  he  had  come  to  the 


AND    COUNTERPLOTS  367 

end,  he  went  back  and  read  it  for  the  second  time; 
and  then,  spreading  it  upon  his  knee,  sat  looking  at 
it  in  silence. 

"Well?"  said  Hill,  desiring,  at  any  cost,  to  come 
to  the  point. 

"You  love  my  daughter?" 

"Yes." 

"And  she?" 

Hill  merely  pointed  to  the  paper. 

"She  has  been  distressed  about  you  for  some  time," 
said  he,  "and  as  you  were  unwilling  to  relieve  her 
mind,  she  decided  that  you  were  being  victimized 
in  some  manner,  and  so  set  Pe —  me  to  find  out  the 
cause  of  the  trouble." 

"Hum  !"  said  Vanderpool.  "And  why  did  you  not 
come  here  this  way,  in  the  first  place,  instead  of  spy- 
ing upon  my  activities  disguised  as  a  goodness- 
knows-what?" 

"Because  I  knew  you  would  be  under  no  neces- 
sity to  tell  me  anything  unless  I  already  possessed 
some  knowledge,"  lied  Hill  with  a  readiness  that 
surprised  himself. 

"Then  this  is  a  sort  of  blackmail?" 

"Not  at  all !"  cried  Sam  hotly.  "I  have  no  wish  to 
use  the  power  which  the  knowledge  I  have  gives  me 


368  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

over  you — though  that  and  the  evidence  of  the 
friends  who  rescued  me  from  that  beastly  hut  would 
be  a  pretty  strong  weapon  if  I  chose  to  use  it.  But 
I  don't;  to  do  so  would  be  to  defeat  my  own  ends 
and  those  of  Iris.  What  I  want  is  nothing  more  than 
some  statement  from  you,  which  will  enable  me  to 
fulfil  the  conditions  of  that  promise  which  your 
daughter  has  signed.  Beyond  reassuring  her,  I  give 
you  my  word  that  I  shall  keep  your  confidence  en- 
tirely :  furthermore,  if  I  can  honestly  do  so,  I  shall 
even  assist  you  in  your  enterprise !" 

Vanderpool  arose  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down, 
silently,  appearing  to  consider  the  proposition  that 
the  younger  man  had  just  made.  Then  he  stopped 
abruptly,  shooting  a  direct  glance  at  Hill  from  un- 
der his  fine  brows.  He  was  a  man  of  quick  decisions, 
and  he  had  decided  in  Hill's  favor. 

"I  believe  you  are  sincere,"  he  said  slowly,  "and 
therefore,  I  am  going  to  trust  you  with  the  whole 
story.  Sit  down  and  smoke  if  you  like — no,  I  prefer 
to  walk." 

The  financier  continued  to  pace  in  silence  for  a 
few  moments,  his  white  head  bowed,  his  thin  youth- 
ful figure  alert  and  active  as  a  boy's,  his  handsome 


AND    COUNTERPLOTS  369 

cameo-like  features  contracted  in  thought.   Then  he 
spoke  abruptly. 

"You  have  surmised  that  a  revolution  was  afoot? 
You  are  right — there  is — in  Venezuela.  My  asphalt 
interests  are  chiefly  there.  The  export-tax,  as  it 
stands,  would  be  a  drain  upon  my  profits,  and  os- 
tensibly that  is  the  reason  for  my  backing  this 
scheme  to  upset  the  present  government.  But  there 
is  another  reason,  a  deeper  one,  known  only  to  my- 
self and  one  other — Rowe.  It  concerns  a  woman, 
who,  he  tells  me,  is  kept  a  prisoner  by  the  now  presi- 
dent of  that  God-forsaken  place.  Let  me  tell  you 
about  her.  When  I  first  took  up  this  business  I  went 
to  Venezuela  to  make  my  contracts.  I  got  good  ones, 
and  I  made  friends  with  the  dictator — a  fine  old 
man.  He  had  a  very  young  wife — hardly  more  than 
a  child.  I  fell  in  love  with  her  and  she  with  me.  She 
had  a  child — a  girl  it  was,  but  it  was  being  brought 
up  as  a  boy  because  the  father  had  been  so  bitterly 
disappointed  at  having  no  son  .  .  .  and  Carmen 
was  faithful  to  her  child  and  her  Husband  ...  I 
am  glad  she  was  ...  I  would  not  have  had  it 
otherwise.  But  we  danced  together  a  great  deal 
.  .  .  there  was  no  harm  in  that  .  .  .  Then,  one 


370  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

night  the  inevitable,  or  rather  the  usual  revolution 
broke  out.  It  broke  out  in  the  ballroom  .  .  .  where 
we  were  waltzing.  The  orchestra  stopped  abruptly : 
all  was  confusion.  I  was  knocked  unconscious  while 
trying  to  save  her  husband.  When  I  came  to,  I  was 
aboard  a  ship  bound  for  New  York.  The  president 
was  saved,  as  I  learned  afterward,  but  the  revolution 
was  successful  and  he  was  deposed.  Carmen,  I 
heard,  was  dead.  Then,  after  a  while,  I  married  to 
please  my  family." 

"Iris'  mother?"  said  Hill. 

"Yes,"  continued  Vanderpool.  "She  died  within 
a  year,  leaving  the  baby  ...  I  was  fond  of  her, 
in  a  way,  and  sorry  .  .  .  but  I  never  forgot  Car- 
men. Recently,  I  came  across  Rowe,  who  had  been 
prominent  in  the  affairs  of  Venezuela  during  my 
visits  there.  He  told  me  that  Carmen  was  not  dead. 
Good  God !  that  was  all  he  needed  to  say, 
but  he  added  that  she  was  being  kept  a  prisoner, 
to  all  intents  and  purposes,  by  the  present  govern- 
ment for  fear  that  the  country  would  rise  in  fa- 
vor of  her  supposed  son  if  she  were  left  free.  Now 
you  will  understand  the  situation.  I  have  financed 
everything.  The  last  boat  sails  on  the  early  tide, 


AND  .COUNTERPLOTS  371 

before  daylight  to-morrow.  I  have  here  a  letter  to 
my  daughter  which  I  thought  would  sufficiently  ex- 
plain my  absence." 

"You  are  going  with  them — with  the  revolution- 
ists !"  exclaimed  Hill. 

"I  am  going  to  rescue  Carmen,"  replied  Vander- 
pool  with  a  wistful  smile. 

"And  you  sail  at  dawn !  Will  you  not  come  with 
me  to  the  house  at  once,  now,  and  tell  Iris  what  you 
have  told  me,"  cried  Hill  excitedly.  "By  jove!  it's 
a  wonderful  story !  It  will  set  everything  right  for 
me,  if  you'll  only  come  along !" 

"Impossible!"  replied  Vanderpool.  "There  are 
some  vital  details  yet  to  be  attended  to.  Besides,  I 
prefer  not  to  return  to  the  house  again.  The  servants 
have  been  told  I  have  gone  away  for  some  time,  and 
I  do  not  now  wish  to  do  anything  that  will  excite 
the  slightest  comment." 

"But  Great  Scott!"  exclaimed  Hill  in  dismay, 
"will  you  write  out  a  certificate  for  me  to  show  her 
as  the  proof  of  what  I  shall  tell  her?" 

"I  heard  the  young  lady  giving  instructions  that 
you  were  not  to  be  admitted,"  said  Vanderpool  with 
a  twinkle.  "Has  the  order  been  revoked?" 


372  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

"I — I  don't  know,"  gasped  Hill.  Then  an  idea 
struck  him,  and  he  laughed  aloud  in  relief. 

"See  here!"  he  said,  "she  is  going  to  a  costume 
dance  at  the  Milligans  to-night.  Couldn't  you  go 
there  with  me  just  before  you  leave  for  the  boat,  and 
help  me  get  things  straightened  out?  I  know  it's  a 
lot  to  ask,  but — " 

"But  you're  not  above  asking,"  finished  Vander- 
pool  with  a  laugh.  "Yes,  I  think  it  could  be  man- 
aged. I'll  have  to  go  in  these  clothes,  though.  Will 
they  let  me  in?" 

"I'll  take  care  of  that!"  cried  Hill  joyfully,  "where 
shall  I  meet  you?" 

"Call  for  me  at  the  Calumet  Club,  at  about 
twelve,"  said  Vanderpool. 

"I — I  don't  quite  know  how  to  thank  you,"  began 
Hill,  but  the  other  stopped  him  with  a  gesture. 

"I  have  been  twenty-five  years  without  the  thing 
I  am  helping  you  to  get,"  said  he.  "Do  you  sup- 
pose I  want  you  to  wait?  Then,  too,  I  rather  like 
the  idea  of  having  you  for  a  son-in-law.  You'll  be 
good  for  Iris." 

"Er— yes!"  said   Hill. 

"And  now,  get  out,  I'm  busy,"  said  Vanderpool, 
tearing  in  half  the  letter  that  he  had  just  written. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  MOMENTOUS  EVENING 

DE  Bush  dined  at  the  Milligans  on  the  night 
of  the  masquerade,  and  beside  the  great  paint- 
er there  were  Edwards  and  little  Berry  Forest,  who 
paints  those  fluffy  landscapes.  Blaume  ate  there,  too, 
and  Theodore  Pell,  who  came  in  at  salad-time,  and 
absent-mindedly  ate  it  all,  while  he  told  of  seeing 
Pedro  at  Beer  Peter's  place,  and  of  the  splendid  ar- 
ticle which  he,  Pell,  had  made  out  of  it.  And  as  was 
the  custom  of  the  house,  when  the  coffee-cups  had 
been  drained  for  the  second  time,  Bell  Milligan 
made  them  all  help  to  clear  up,  and  get  the  floor 
waxed,  for  it  was  nearly  ten  o'clock,  and  before  long 
the  guests  would  begin  arriving. 

Bell  wore  a  yellow  costume  with  sparkling  things 
on  it,  and  ornaments  of  the  same  sort  across  her  fore- 
head, and  to  it  she  added  an  all-enveloping  gingham 
apron,  while  she  superintended  the  arrangements, 
her  frank  chaff  and  the  laughter  which  made  her  so 
well  beloved  by  all  these  famous  men,  ringing  clear. 

373 


374  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

The  dim  red  lanterns  were  lighted,  the  cellar,  with 
its  two  famous  kegs  of  October  brew,  was  arranged 
for  those  who  chose  to  sit  and  drink  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  dancing  feet  upon  the  studio  floor 
above :  the  tiny  kitchenette  was  crammed  to  its  utter- 
most capacity  with  the  good  things  for  supper,  and 
at  half  past  ten  precisely  the  musicians  arrived:  a 
thin  flutist,  a  fat  German  cellist,  a  dapper  dyspeptic 
pianist,  and  a  temperamental  hungry-looking  violin- 
ist. These  took  up  their  places  around  the  weather- 
beaten  piano,  and  tucking  their  handkerchiefs  under 
their  chins,  prepared  for  the  strenuous  time  that 
was  traditional  of  the  Milligans'  parties.  Around 
the  walls  were  couches,  and  between  them,  on  the 
floor,  cushions,  to  serve  as  seats. 

"I  wonder  if  there  are  enough?"  said  Don,  and 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  darted  across  the 
alley  to  take  from  under  the  very  head  of  a  neigh- 
bor, the  desired  articles,  with  which  he  presently 
returned.  Meanwhile,  De  Bush,  gray-haired,  digni- 
fied despite  his  pirate  costume,  was  solemnly  sliding 
over  the  wax  he  flung  upon  the  floor,  while  on  the 
balcony  Blaume,  the  poet-model,  and  Pell,  were  giv- 
ing each  other  illustrations  of  the  latest  Gotch-Hack- 
enschmidt  match,  greatly  to  the  detriment  of  their 


A    MOMENTOUS    EVENING          375 

costumes.  Then  the  first  "outside"  guest  arrived,  a 
lady  in  the  character  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba.  In- 
stantly she  was  surrounded  by  an  admiring,  clam- 
oring, teasing  group. 

"Am  I  the  first?"  asked  the  lady. 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Bell  comfortingly,  with"  as 
much  inanity  as  the  question  required.  And  then, 
just  as  the  situation  was  becoming  unbearably  stupid, 
as  such  moments  at  the  beginning  of  a  party  al- 
ways are,  the  door  opened  to  an  Apache,  full-painted 
for  war.  A  wild  whoop  went  up  at  once,  and  before 
it  had  subsided,  the  crowd  began  to  stream  in,  many- 
colored,  noisy,  gorgeous  or  humorous,  filling  the  dim 
studio  with  a  dream-like  throng,  alive  with  move- 
ment, fraught  with  the  delightful  mystery  of  fa- 
miliar friends  in  disguise.  The  air  was  full  of  chat- 
ter, of  laughter,  of  delighted  screams  of  recognition. 
"Good  Lord!  it's  Bill!  Look  what  Bill  has  on! 
Have  you  seen  Mazie's  tights!  !  !  Kitty  has  on  a 
blond  wig! — yes,  it  is  Ken  Harris!  Well!  look  at 
Mr.  De  Bush,  will  you!  Hello,  Pell,  old  boy,  feel 
as  great  a  fool  as  you  look?"  etc.,  etc.  From  the 
corner  where  the  musicians  sat,  came  an  ungodly 
squeaking  and  scraping.  The  perfume  of  burning 
incense,  of  new-lit  cigaretteg,  of  heavy  cosmetics  and 


376  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

camphor,  hung  in  the  atmosphere.  The  hungry 
violinist  readjusted  his  handkerchief  and  waved  his 
bow;  there  was  a  blast  of  melody,  maddening,  en- 
ticing, and  the  crowd  in  the  center  of  the  room  be- 
gan to  move  rhythmically.  The  guests  continued  to 
pour  in. 

Among  these  came  Leigh,  clad  in  high  boots, 
rough  shirt,  and  trousers,  carrying  an  ax,  his  coat 
thrown  over  his  arm,  this  costume  having  been 
created  to  emulate  the  personal  appearance  of  the 
great  American  for  whom  he  had  been  named. 

After  a  quick  word  of  greeting  to  Don  Milligan, 
he  thrust  his  impedimenta  into  a  corner,  and  began 
to  search  among  the  crowd  for  the  face  that  had 
haunted  him  incessantly  the  eighteen  hours  past.  But 
although  many  smiled  at  him,  and  beckoned  him  to 
join  them,  he  shook  his  head  in  refusal,  and  con- 
tinued to  look  for  Pedro. 

But  Pedro  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  and  instead, 
in  a  small  room  opening  on  to  the  balcony,  he  came 
upon  Iris,  who,  seated  upon  a  divan,  was  engaged 
in  warding  off  the  eager  attentions  of  Pell,  who  was 
determined  that  she  should  dance  with  him. 

"Hello,  Iris!"  said  Leigh,  coming  up,  and  at  once 
perceiving  that  she  wished  to  be  rid  of  the  young 


A    MOMENTOUS    EVENING          377 

reporter.  "Hello,  Pell!  get  out  of  this,  will  you? 
I've  something  particular  I  want  to  tell  Miss  Van- 
derpool." 

"You  brigand !"  retorted  Pell,  making  a  wry  face, 
"what  right  have  you,  boarding  my  ship  this  way? 
However,  despite  my  newspaper  instinct,  I  shall 
withdraw  from  ear-shot  But  if  you  see  a  paragraph 
or  two  about  yourselves,  don't  be  surprised !" 

With  which  witticism  he  was  off. 

"Fresh  cub,"  muttered  Leigh.  Then  to  Iris,  "May 
I  sit  down,  or  would  you  rather  be  left  alone?" 

"I — no,  that  is,  yes!"  said  Iris  confusedly.  "Do 
sit  here  beside  me,  please..  I — I  feel  rather  unhappy 
to-night,  and  that  boy  bothered  me.  What  is  it  that 
you  have  to  tell  me?" 

"Absolutely  nothing,"  said  Leigh,  sinking  down 
beside  her,  "it  was  only  a  ruse.  But  I'll  try  and 
think  up  something  if  you  like." 

"Don't  trouble!"  replied  Iris  with  a  little  laugh. 

"Perhaps — that  is,  if  you  like  to  know — will  you 
tell  me  something?"  Leigh  responded. 

"That  depends,"  said  Iris,  patting  the  shimmering 
skirt  of  her  costume.  "That  depends  on  the  nature 
of  the  question." 

"I  have  no  question  to  put,"  he  told  her.     "It  is 


378  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

only  that  I  can  see  you  are  unhappy,  and  there  must 
be  a  reason  for  it.  Now,  if  you  told  me  that  reason, 
the  telling  might  help  you  to  discern  its  real  sig- 
nificance." 

".You  say  such  odd  things,"  she  replied,  "and  such 
true  ones !  In  most  cases  your  receipt  might  work, 
but,  in  this  one,  it  won't.  You  see,  my  chief  trouble 
is  that  I  have  made  an  awful  fool  of  myself,  and 
talking  about  it  would  only  make  me  more  fool  than 
ever." 

"Not  necessarily,"  he  responded.  "For  instance, 
you  might  have  been  misled  in  the  first  place.  You 
are  scarcely  responsible  for  that,  and  all  your  fool- 
ishness might  be  subsequent  and  dependent  upon 
such  misleading,  or  deception." 

"That's  it  exactly!"  cried  Iris.  "Oh!  Mr.  Leigh, 
do  you  think  it  would  be  very  terrible  if  I  were  to 
tell  you  something — something  that  involved  a 
third  person,  I  mean?  It  would  ease  my  mind  so, 
and  I  must  have  advice!  My  father  has  gone  off 
somewhere,  and  there  is  no  one  else.  Do  you  think 
I  might?" 

"I  think  you  might,"  replied  Leigh  slowly.  "I 
think  it  would  do  no  harm  to  tell  me  if  it  concerned 
one  particular  person.  I  mean — Pedro !" 


A    MOMENTOUS    EVENING          379 

"So  you  know!"  cried  Iris,  violently  agitated. 
"You  know!  And  I  never  even  guessed,  and  went 
on  making  love  to  him  .  .  .  her,  that  is,  and 
couldn't  understand  why  he — she  didn't  like  it.  And 
oh!  more  than  that,  I  did  terrible  things;  that  is, 
they  would  have  been  terrible  if  Pedro  had  been  a 
man.  I  went  there  alone.  The  model  told  me  I 
ought  not  to,  and  why;  but  I  was  mad — I  did  not 
really  understand  what  she  meant.  And  then,  last 
night" — her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper  and  she  kept 
looking  fixedly  at  the  floor.  "Last  night  I  went  to 
Pedro's  studio  again  alone  ...  I  was  desperate 
...  I  didn't  clearly  know  what  I  was  doing.  And 
he  (that  was  before  I  knew),  Pedro,  told  me  plainly, 
right  out  plainly  .  .  .  and  I  didn't  care  .  .  . 
and  at  last  he  had  to  confess  he  was  a  girl  .  .  . 
and  oh!  Mr.  Leigh,  do  you  think  Sam  will  ever 
forgive  me  for  being  such  a  wicked  fool?  And  do 
you  think  he  will  ever  come  back  so  that  I  can  tell 
him  how  sorry  I  am  that  I  ever  picked  that  silly 
wrong-headed  quarrel  with  him?  Oh!  do  you?" 

Leigh's  voice  shook  with  emotion  as  he  answered 
her,  and  he  was  glad  that  she  did  not  look  him  in  the 
face  as  he  spoke,  for  he  knew  that  at  the  moment  its 
expression  had  got  beyond  his  power  of  control. 


380         THE  IMPOSSIBLE  BOY 

"Yes,"  he  said  unsteadily,  "it  will  all  come  right!" 

He  got  to  his  feet,  and  took  an  uncertain  step  or 
two,  the  words  she  had  just  uttered  concerning 
Pedro  still  ringing  in  his  brain.  The  pace  or  two 
had,  however,  brought  him  facing  the  door.  In  it 
his  eyes  met  a  sight  that  would  ordinarily  have 
been  sufficient  to  fill  him  with  amazement,  but  Leigh 
was  too  much  stunned  by  Iris'  unconscious  confirma- 
tion to  feel  any  further  emotion  just  then.  But  he 
managed  to  speak,  and  the  words  aroused  Iris  like 
magic. 

"Yes,"  he  said  feebly,  "I  think  you  will  have  the 
opportunity  of  apologizing,  for  here  comes  Sam 
Hill  now!" 

Then  they  both  stared  hard  at  the  door,  where, 
sure  enough,  Sam  was  standing,  disguised  as  a  bear- 
trainer,  every  detail  of  his  costume  complete,  down 
to  the  very  bear  itself.  Iris  gave  a  little  cry.  He 
was  smiling  at  her,  and  behind  him  shadowed  the 
tall  figure  of  her  father.  She  turned  to  her  lover, 
her  hands  outstretched. 

"Samuel!"  she  said  brokenly,  and  was  gathered 
into  his  arms. 

"Samuel,  beloved  of  the  Lord !"  muttered  Leigh, 
as  he  reeled  out  on  to  the  balcony  like  a  drunken 


A    MOMENTOUS    EVENING          381 

man.  From  the  floor  below  came  the  rhythmic 
stamp  of  many  heels,  and  the  tinkling  tune  of  the 
Spanish. 

In  the  little  room  a  few  explications  were  taking 
place. 

"Sam,  my  son-to-be,"  said  Vanderpool,  "it  seems 
to  me  that  you  needed  neither  my  presence  nor  your 
document." 

And  Iris,  still  clinging  to  her  lover,  was  sufficient- 
ly curious  to  ask : 

"What  document,  father?" 

"Why  this!"  explained  Hill,  taking  her  pledge 
from  his  breast  pocket  with  his  free  hand,  and  show- 
ing it  to  her. 

"That?"  exclaimed  Iris. 

"Of  course,  dearest !"  beamed  Sam.  "Your  father 
here  will  explain  everything  and  help  me  fulfil  the 
conditions — but  you  seem  surprised.  Didn't  you 
send  it  to  me?" 

With  slow-dawning  understanding,  she  looked 
from  the  document  to  his  happy  face. 

"Of  course  I  did,  dear,"  said  she,  hereby  uttering 
her  first  wifely  fib.  "And  are  you  really  safe, 
daddy?" 


382  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY, 

"I  am  in  no  danger  of  which  I  am  aware,"  said 
Vanderpool.  "Hill  has  the  whole  story,  and  I  shall 
let  him  tell  it." 

"Then  everything  is  all  right !"  cried  Hill.  "Come 
on,  let's  get  out  of  this.  Let's  go  to  your  house." 

"Yes,"  assented  Iris,  wherewith  the  lovers  went 
away,  unheedful  of  the  lonely  man  who  bade  them 
Godspeed,  or  of  the  bear,  who  had  fallen  asleep  in 
a  dark  corner. 

Meanwhile,  Leigh,  his  heart  like  to  burst  with  a 
hundred  culminated  emotions,  sat  by  the  balcony 
rail,  and  scanned  the  crowd  in  eager  search  for 
Pedro.  From  this  vantage-point  he  saw  Iris  and 
Samuel  take  their  departure,  and  then  the  music 
stopped.  There  was  a  fluttering  of  hands,  the  ripple 
of  applause  died  away,  and  the  crowd  broke  up  into 
groups,  who  laughed  and  ate  with  as  little  concern  as 
though  the  world  had  not  been  changed  forever  for 
Leigh.  Suddenly  a  strange  thing  happened. 

The  center  of  the  floor  was  for  the  moment  clear, 
and  the  musicians  had  retuned  their  instruments. 
Then,  above  the  gay  murmur  of  the  human  voices 
wailed  the  voice  of  the  violin,  the  accompaniment 
throbbing  softly  below.  For  a  moment  or  two  no 


A    MOMENTOUS    EVENING          383 

one  danced,  held  back  by  that  unwillingness  to  be 
the  first  which  always  follows  the  opening  strains  of 
a  new  measure.  Then  Leigh  became  conscious  that  a 
hush  had  fallen  upon  the  crowd. 

The  street  door  had  been  thrown  wide,  and  from 
the  darkness  without  there  emerged  the  figure  of  a 
woman.  Her  garments  were  of  frail  silks  torn  and 
mud-stained,  and  pitifully  inadequate  to  protect  her 
from  the  cold.  Her  golden  head  was  uncovered,  and 
disheveled,  and  from  below  its  tumbled  glory,  her 
eyes  shone  bright  and  feverish  from  the  dark-ringed 
sockets.  But  she  seemed  unconscious  of  her  plight, 
and  of  the  stares  of  wonderment  that  she  invoked. 

It  was  Carmen  Daussa,  tremulous  with  joy  at 
finding  the  only  house  in  the  great  cruel  city  where 
she  possessed  friends,  where  she  might  ask  for  help 
and  shelter.  At  recognition  of  her,  a  breath  of  ad- 
miration went  up  from  the  audience,  which  swiftly 
changed  to  an  expression  of  amazement  as  Vander- 
pool  emerged  from  the  extreme  other  end  of  the 
room.  Then,  as  though  drawn  by  an  irresistible 
power,  they  advanced,  seeing  no  one  but  each  other, 
caring  for  no  one  else,  totally  unconscious  of  the  ex- 
istence of  the  crowd,  speaking  no  word,  uttering  no 
cry,  but  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  swifter  and 


384  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

swifter,  as  though  impelled  by  a  fate  they  had  no 
thought  to  resist  And  then,  in  the  center  of  the 
gleaming  floor  they  met,  and,  wordless  still,  he  took 
her  in  his  arms.  And  when  the  music  stopped  ab- 
ruptly, she  called  his  name,  and  he  bent  and  kissed 
her  on  the  mouth. 

Once  the  spell  which  had  held  them  snapped  with 
the  cessation  of  the  waltz,  the  people  crowded  about 
the  two,  all  talking,  complimenting,  explaining, 
laughing,  pushing:  and  while  this  was  at  its  height 
the  studio  door  opened  to  admit  the  long  sought  for, 
slender  figure,  and  Pedro  was  seen  to  inquire  some- 
thing of  Bell  Milligan.  At  her  response,  Pedro  ap- 
parently thanked  her,  and  disappearing  among  the 
crowd,  quickly  returned  with  the  bear  at  heel,  and 
vanished. 

With  a  stifled  cry  Leigh  sprang  up,  and  hastily 
gaining  the  lower  floor,  crossed  rapidly  to  Bell, 
who  was  deeply  absorbed  in  explaining  something  to 
Pell,  and  who  had  to  be  shaken  by  the  shoulder  be- 
fore she  would  answer  Leigh's  question. 

"Where  did  Pedro  go?" 

"I — good  gracious,  such  a  performance!  Did  you 
ever — "  gasped  Bell — "where  did  Pedro  go?  He 
went  home  to  pack." 


A    MOMENTOUS    EVENING          385 

"Home  to  pack!"  shouted  Leigh.    "Good  lord!" 
And   without   even   waiting  to   find   his  hat,   he 

rushed  out  into  the  alley  and  started  madly  off  in 

the  direction  of  Muldoon  Place. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  BEGINNING 

BY  the  light  of  a  single  candle,  Pedro  was  pack- 
ing a  little  knapsack  with  the  meager  belong- 
ings that  his  sojourn  in  the  old  studio  had  brought 
together.  He  went  about  the  task  with  reluctance, 
but  with  the  weary  resignation  of  those  who  receive 
an  unalterable  decree  from  fate,  and  recognize  it  as 
such. 

One  by  one  his  little  personal  things  were  tucked 
away  in  the  ancient  traveler's-kit — a  book  or  two, 
some  linen,  brushes,  a  gay  necktie,  and  a  miniature 
plaster  cast  of  Leigh's  "sleeping  bear".  When  these 
had  been  put  in,  and  still  a  little  room  remained,  he 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  then,  going  to  the  heap  of 
sketches  and  small  canvases  with  which  the  rack 
was  filled,  deliberated  among  them  for  a  while; 
taking  up  first  this  one  and  then  that,  with  loving 
hands,  and  throwing  each  in  turn  back  upon  the 
shelf  from  whence  it  came.  Finally  a  sorrowful 
shake  of  the  head  dismissed  them  all. 

386 


THE    BEGINNING  387 

"Of  what  use  to  take  any?"  said  Pedro  aloud. 
But  nevertheless,  he  stood  brooding  over  them  for 
quite  a  time.  .  .  . 

By  the  fire  lay  Mr.  Jones,  blinking  sympathet- 
ically. With  a  sigh  Pedro  turned  at  last  from  these 
children  of  his  mind,  and  set  about  arranging  the 
two  rooms — the  studio  and  bedroom — exactly  as  he 
had  found  them. 

In  the  first  place  there  were  the  pictures — his  pic- 
tures! From  the  big  easel  the  "Madonna  Lady" 
smiled  wanly  upon  her  young  creator — a  beautiful, 
crude,  unfinished  thing,  its  possibilities  beckoning 
enticingly  from  behind  the  haze  of  its  incomplete- 
ness. Then  there  were  the  others.  Significantly 
Pedro  glanced  from  them  in  the  direction  of  the  fire- 
place, and  heaved  another  sigh.  No !  that  was  impos- 
sible; infanticide!  It  could  not  be  done!  Yet,  who 
would  care  for  them.  .  .  .  Leigh?  Perhaps.  Piling 
them  high,  and  topping  them  with  the  ever-smiling 
portrait  of  Iris,  he  stacked  them  neatly,  near  the 
door,  and  writing  "For  A.  L.  Leigh"  on  a  folded  bit 
of  paper,  left  this  message  a-top  the  heap. 

Next,  he  restored  the  furniture  to  its  original  ar- 
rangement as  nearly  as  he  could  remember  it,  and 
bringing  forth  Hill's  canvases  from  the  cubby  in 


388  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

which  most  of  them  had  been  reposing,  set  them 
around,  even  as  he  had  found  them,  down  to  putting 
the  unfinished  portrait  of  the  banker  upon  the  throne 
from  which  the  Madonna  had  just  been  taken. 
When  this  was  done,  the  studio  took  on  such  an 
unfamiliar  atmosphere  that  a  lump  arose  in  Pedro's 
throat.  It  seemed  such  a  concrete  representation  of 
how  completely  his  claim  here  had  ended!  With 
apparent  irreverence  he  suddenly  went  over  and 
knelt  beside  the  bear,  taking  the  creature's  head 
between  his  hands,  while  tears  started  to  his  eyes. 

"Poor  fellow!  Poor  Mr.  Jones!"  said  Pedro 
huskily,  and  then,  having  patted  Mr.  Jones  upon  the 
nose  several  times,  arose  slightly  comforted. 

The  bedroom  came  next  in  order,  and  from  press 
and  bureau  Hill's  clothing,  which  had  been  laid 
away  with  so  much  care,  was  hauled  out  and  hung 
in  its  accustomed  place,  each  minor  detail  being  at- 
tended to  with  care. 

When  all  was  accomplished,  the  worker  came  to 
the  doorway  where  he  had  paused  on  that  long- 
past  autumn  morning  of  his  first  awakening  there, 
and  stood  gazing  for  the  last  time  upon  what  had 
been  the  field  of  his  labors  these  many  months ;  and 
as  he  looked  about,  it  seemed  as  though  his  heart 


THE    BEGINNING  389 

would  break  at  the  thought  of  leaving  it.  But  go 
he  must. 

Clenching  his  hands,  he  called  himself  a  fool, 
speaking  aloud  in  his  pain.  For  a  moment  the  wild 
hope  came  to  him  that  he  might,  after  all,  stay  on ; 
or,  at  least,  return ;  and  then  with  renewed  clearness 
the  urgent  reasons  for  departure  came  surging  back. 
His  secret,  which  Iris  knew,  was  no  longer  safe. 
His  mother,  whose  entreaties  he  dared  not  face,  was 
living  in  the  very  same  city,  and  might  at  any 
moment  meet  with  him.  Then  there  was  Hill.  He 
had  found  Iris,  and  all  must  be  well  between  them, 
for  had  not  Bell  Milligan  told  how  they  had  gone 
off  together?  This  happy  occurrence  would  end 
Hill's  reasons  for  staying  away.  More,  the  painter 
had  returned  Mr.  Jones,  the  only  pledge  Pedro  had 
given  him,  thereby  ending  the  bargain.  Then,  too, 
in  a  few  weeks  it  would  be  spring,  and  the  hedge- 
rows would  awaken,  new-clad  in  green,  and  the 
broad  highway  would  call  and  call.  .  .  . 

"But  none  of  these  is  the  great  reason!"  cried 
Pedro  aloud.  "Holy  Mother!  have  mercy  upon  me! 
The  real  reason  is  Leigh!  It  is  he,  it  is  he  whom 
I  can  not  endure  to  leave!  Yet  go  I  must  Suppose 
he  should  suspect  me !  What  would  he  say  to  such  as 


390  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

I — a  wild  hoiden  thing  who  has  defied  and  broken 
all  the  ties  of  womanhood ?  Holy  Madonna!  Have 
pity!" 

His  arms  flew  wide,  as  if  to  embrace  the  knees 
of  the  Virgin,  and  his  face  was  drawn  with  anguish. 

"I  can  never  atone  for  my  actions!"  he  thought 
"If  he  discovers  that  I  am  a  woman,  he  will  always 
despise  me!  Better  leave  to  him  the  memory  of  a 
boy  friend  whom  he  loved  and  who  ran  away !" 

Then,  gathering  up  his  courage,  he  went  a  final 
round  of  the  dearly  loved  workshop,  caressing  each 
object  as  he  passed,  as  though  it  had  been  animate. 
Everywhere  were  things  that  reminded  him  of 
Leigh.  There  they  had  sat  and  talked  on  such  a 
night;  here  he  had  perched  while  he  showed  some 
tricks  of  technique;  together  they  had  stood  at  this 
window  looking  over  the  roof-tops  at  the  city  which 
they  had  talked  of  beautifying,  and  beside  this  table 
he  had  often  drawn  a  chair,  when  they  sat  down  to 
share  a  scanty  meal  and  an  abundance  of  talk  on 
subjects  dear  to  them.  Oh!  it  was  too  cruel,  too 
full  of  poignant  memories,  this  place!  Nothing 
was  to  be  gained  by  tarrying,  but  wounds,  fresh 
wounds,  added  to  that  which  he  was  doomed  to  carry 
forever!  Since  going  was  inevitable,  best  go 


THE    BEGINNING  391 

quickly  and  be  done.  To  run  away  down  the  dark 
stair,  along  the  cold  street — away,  away,  to  the  blos- 
soming Southland  and  the  search  for  forgetfulness. 
With  set  lips  he  put  on  hat  and  coat,  extinguished 
the  candle,  and  by  the  dim  glow  of  the  banked  fire, 
began  to  gather  up  the  belt  of  the  knapsack.  Then 
a  sound  on  the  staircase  caused  his  heart  to  give  a 
great  leap,  after  which  it  seemed  to  stop  beating 
altogether.  Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  familiar 
step,  and  then,  without  pause  it  crossed  the  landing 
and  the  door  was  burst  open  to  admit  the  towering 
figure  of  Abraham  Lincoln  Leigh'. 

"Are  you  there?"  the  deep  voice  asked  command- 
ingly,  as  the  man  peered  into  the  gloom. 

"I — yes !"  answered  Pedro  weakly. 

"Thank  God!"  exclaimed  Leigh.  Then,  as  his 
eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  he  placed 

her. 

"I  was  just  going,"  began  Pedro  faintly,  "I — " 

"Sit  down  beside  me,"  said  Leigh  gently  but 
firmly,  "I  want  to  say  several  things  to  you." 

"Yes,  but—"  protested  the  girl. 

"Sit  down,  my  dear,"  said  Leigh,  striking  a  light. 

There  was  a  tense  silence  while  he  lit  the  lamp, 


392  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

the  soft  g|ow  presently  revealing  them  to  each 
other.  Then  Pedro  slowly  obeyed  the  strangely  put 
command,  and  they  sat  silently  for  a  long  moment, 
looking  into  each  other's  eyes  with  that  perfect  un- 
derstanding that  had  been  theirs  from  the  first. 
Oh !  how  could  she  have  doubted  him  for  an  instant? 
There  was  no  misunderstanding  the  meaning  of  that 
"dear" — nor  of  the  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken  it. 
A  wild  tingling  sensation  began  to  dance  through 
her  veins,  and  at  the  light  in  his  eyes  a  deep  flush 
began  to  creep  over  her  face,  feminine  enough  now, 
despite  its  frame  of  close-cut  curls.  At  length  she 
spoke,  never  taking  her  eyes  from  his. 

"So  you  know,"  she  said  superfluously. 

"Yes." 

"How  long  have  you  known  ?" 

"In  my  secret  consciousness,  from  the  beginning 
of  time,"  he  answered  her.  "Since  last  night,  in 
actual  realization.  Why,  I've  been  in  love  with  you 
all  these  months,  but  I  did  not  understand  it,  owing 
to—" 

He  indicated  her  clothing  and  again  she  blushed 
• — a  swift  crimson  this  time. 

"And  you  don't — don't  despise  me?"  she  asked, 
ashamed. 


"  I  shall  come  when  the  violets  are  in  bloom." 


THE    BEGINNING  393 

"No,  I  don't  despise  you :  I  want  to  marry  you," 
he  replied.  "What  is  your  name?" 

"Pedro — I  never  had  another,  excepting  Daussa 
y.  St.  Tron,  of  course.  But  .  .  .  do  you  mean  it?" 

"That  is  the  first  utterly  dull  remark  I  ever  heard 
you  make,"  observed  Leigh.  "Now,  when  shall  it 
be?  To-morrow?  It's  a  little  late  to-night !" 

"No!"  she  cried,  springing  up.  "Not  to-night; 
not  to-morrow ;  I  must  go  away !" 

"Why?" 

"Iris  knows  about  me;  and  think  of  the  talk! 
»vhat  would  your  friends  say?  Oh!  believe  me,  I 
inust  go  away  until  I  can  come  back  as  myself,"  she 
Said  distractedly. 

His  face  was  stern  as  he  replied. 

"I  can  usually  see  the  reasons  you  put  forth,"  said 
he;  "but  I  can  not  feel  that  there  is  any  need  for 
you  to  go." 

"Ah,"  she  pleaded,  "but  /  do !  Let  me  come  back 
as  myself — as  a  woman,  and  as  a  woman  should.  I 
want  to ;  can't  you  understand  ?" 

"Yes — I  think  perhaps  I  do,"  said  he  slowly. 
"And  in  the  meanwhile?" 

"I  shall  be  with  Rico  and  Anna,"  she  said,  "until 
they  have  the  baby.  They  can  be  together  all  the 


394  THE    IMPOSSIBLE    BOY 

meantime,  if  I  dance  the  bears  and  bring  in  the 
money  for  them ;  and  then  I  shall  slip  away  and  bid 
the  road  farewell.  .  .  ." 

Then  he  did  see.  Saw  all  that  the  life  of  the  road 
had  meant  to  her,  all  that  she  would  give  up  ... 
for  him  ...  He  got  to  his  feet  rather  unsteadily, 
and  at  the  look  on  his  face  she,  too,  sprang  up,  half- 
frightened,  to  escape  him.  But  retreat  was  useless, 
and  then,  smothered  in  his  mighty  arms,  Pedro  re- 
ceived her  first  kiss.  .  .  . 

It  was  an  hour  later  that  they  crept  down  the  dark 
stairway  and  swung  the  door  open  to  the  faint  glow 
of  coming  day.  "When  will  you  come  back,  Pedro 
— oh !  when  will  you  come  back?"  he  whispered  pas- 
sionately. 

"I  shall  come,"  said  Pedro,  "when  the  violets  are 
in  bloom ;  when  it  is  full  spring,  I  shall  return." 

Then  she  shifted  the  little  knapsack  into  place 
across  her  shoulder  and  alone  stepped  off  into  the 
grayness,  the  little  bear  shuffling  along  at  her  heels. 

The  morning  was  bleak  and  chill,  but  Leigh 
stood  quite  motionless  long  after  she  had  passed 
from  sight;  stood  motionless  until  the  housetops 
flamed  with  the  coming  sun,  until  the  dawn  was 
painted  like  unto  the  glory  of  love;  and  then  he 


THE    BEGINNING  395 

smiled,  and,  throwing  back  his  head,  sniffed  the  keen 
air  as  though  he  could  already  scent  the  unborn 
violets  of  that  distant  spring. 


THE  END 


A        n      

A     000131011 


